Ha Ha Harlequin
by This.Is.SCRUMPTIOUS
Summary: Harley/Joker. How a young impressionable woman transforms from clinical psychiatrist to full-fledged villain.
1. Just an Intern

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harley. Or Batman. Or the Joker. Or Bartholomew. Or Arkham. Or Dr. Arkham. That's all DC's. At some point, there will be someone I own!**

"Dr. Quinzel?" A voice called out from behind.

Harleen's eyes glanced away briefly from the computer screen to see who her new guest was, and quickly returned back to it as soon as she saw who it was. She was busy typing away on her computer, trying her best to fill out her report on her current patient so that she would be able to go home before midnight. Eight hours of sleep was always better than six.

"Yes, Dr. Bartholomew?" she asked, distracted, but voice still full of respect for her superior. She was, after all, just an intern.

"How is your case coming along?" he asked politely, stepping fully into the doorway and crossing his arms. His square glasses were perched on the end of his nose, his aged face wrinkled with concern.

Harleen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Ever since the incident with Doctor Crane, the superior doctors have been required to do a routine check on every doctor, making sure that no one was, say, testing illegal fear-inducing hallucinogens on their patients.

She chose the usual, most vague answer. "Fine."

The old doctor sighed. "Listen, Harleen." He took a seat in the chair across from Harley, folding his hands in his lap. "I understand that you are not exactly thrilled with our new policy, but we can't have a repetition of what happened with Doctor…Crane."

He struggled to say his name. It wasn't out of fear, either. Harleen knew that. It was out of embarrassment. He of all people should have known what Crane was doing in the basement of the Asylum. Hell, everybody should have known.

"I understand, Doctor," Harleen told him, ceasing what she was typing and addressing him in the eye. She wanted to make it clear that she was aware of how serious the situation was. "I don't want that to happen either. I'm just concerned with the fact that it is possibly hurting some of the other doctors here."

"How do you mean?" he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

"Not saying that this necessarily applies to myself," she began, sliding her glasses off and rubbing her temples. It had been a long, stressful day as is, and now she had to explain herself to her boss. "But some of the other doctors have not been performing to their fullest potential. With all this attention they have been receiving from their superiors, they've become nervous. They don't want to make any mistakes, especially in front of you higher standing doctors. Because they're nervous, those mistakes happen, and their apprehension is evident. Therefore, their patients suffer along with themselves."

Bartholomew was quiet for a moment as he deliberated this in his head. "Did they tell you this themselves?" he asked quietly, gazing down at the floor, as if he already knew the answer.

"No, I devised it myself through my own observations and calculations." She had returned to her computer and her report, hiding the smirk that longed to show on her lips.

"I suppose I could express this concern with the other doctors," he mumbled quietly to himself, but then quickly changed topics. "Alright, with all that aside, I have another motive for visiting you here this evening."

"Oh?" She said, glancing sideways at the older man. She subconsciously pulled a blond lock that fell in front of her face behind an ear, never missing a beat as she typed.

"Yes," he continued. "As you know, the police had apprehended the Joker. They have decided that sending him to Blackgate Prison would be dangerous to himself and to the others around him. They are bringing him here."

She stopped typing the moment he had mentioned the Joker. She hoped he was not seriously considering asking her to become one of the most dangerous, if not the most dangerous, man in Gotham City's psychiatrist. That was complete madness. She was only an intern.

"How does this apply to me?" She asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"We have been told to inform all people in the asylum about the Joker," he explained, sensing Harleen's worry. At this, she breathed a sigh of relief, and began to diligently typing on her computer once more, mildly keeping her ear open for the doctor.

"Who will be taking up his case?" She asked.

"Well, in my personal opinion," he began in a low whisper. He was confiding in her. "Doctor Crane was the only one likely enough to handle this situation. But seeing as he is…unable to at the moment…"

He said that as if Crane would be returning at some point in time. Harleen had lost all hope of that a long time ago. Along with her respect for the doctor.

"But," Bartholomew continued, in a louder tone. "Doctor Arkham has decided to take it upon himself to become the Joker's new psychiatrist."

"Jeremiah?" I asked pointedly, not even trying to hide the chuckle that escaped my lips. "He's stressed out enough as it is with running this entire institution, and now he wants to take on the Joker? It's almost as if he wants to go crazy himself…"

Harleen just shook her head.

"I had a feeling you would agree with me on this matter, Ms. Quinzel." He smiled at her, and she knew what he was thinking.

Mainly because of their age difference, Harleen and Bartholomew very rarely agreed on anything, especially in terms of treating a patient. Bartholomew liked to stick to the books, while Harleen had methods that were more unorthodox. All the while, the two respected each other in terms of their intelligence outside the walls of Arkham.

"Well, I'll let you finish your work up," he told her, pulling his lips in and standing up. "Is it Schiff?"

"Mhm. Just finishing up his monthly report. I do believe that he has been making progress. He's only come up with one conspiracy theory on his death this month."

Bartholomew raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I'll keep that in mind when I report to Dr. Arkham. Good night, Dr. Quinzel."

"Ah, doctor?" she stopped him. He turned around and smiled pleasantly at her. "When will he be coming to the asylum? Just so I can mentally prepare myself."

"Yes, of course." He nodded, smile dropping just a tad. "Tomorrow night."

She bit her lip tentatively. "Alright, thank you." Dr. Bartholomew left the room.

She finished typing in the last sentence to her report.

_Furthermore, increasing the amount of sedatives given to Mr. Schiff would only be counterproductive to his rehabilitation. It is in my personal opinion that his dosage should be decreased dramatically, so that I will be able to fully assess the amount of progress he has made._

Harleen sat back in her chair and sighed, admiring her handiwork. She was fully aware that Thomas Schiff was at one point following the orders of the Joker, and was even involved in the plot to kill Mayor Garcia during the funeral for Commissioner Loeb. She also knew that Schiff had at one point been released from Arkham. It was such a shame that the Joker had gotten hold of the poor man. He could have been living in his own home right now at this very moment. Maybe even have a girlfriend. Who knew?

And now that crazed psychopath would be coming to the same institution. She knew in her heart that this would affect him greatly, affect their months of progress.

Despite the fact that she was terrified of the man, she was also deeply intrigued. The reason why Harleen had decided to become a criminal psychologist was because she wanted something exciting and challenging. Furrowing into the mind of a criminal and finding out why they kill, steal and hurt people and how they were able to resist guilt was something that had intrigued her interest.

But thus far, nothing had been too exciting. Granted, she's only just recently been allowed to have patients of her own, but even those said patients were low level. She needed something more stimulating than this.

Harleen quickly saved the file and sent it to be printed. Naturally, the printer was in another room down the hallway, which required her to physically get out of her office to retrieve it. Again, thanks to Crane, Arkham had moved the printer in their wing to the break room, that way everyone could see what was being printed. Was she annoyed? Yes, greatly.

That is, until she heard Dr. Bartholomew and Dr. Arkham discussing something in hushed voices. She was just about to walk in when she heard her name, and slid herself against the wall right next to the doorway. She listened intently, for once being thankful that she had stayed late.

"But Harleen could really use the experience," Bartholomew argued. "She's had so many successes as is, imagine what this could do to help her."

"She is only an intern, Bartholomew," Arkham muttered stubbornly. "I do not think it would be right to place her into the situation, even if it was only sitting in the corner and listening."

"It could also be seen as a safety precaution, for yourself," Bartholomew said, voice becoming exasperated. "If he tries to hurt you, she can be the one to get security. She'll be closest to the door and she'll have a silent alarm on her at all times."

"And what if he tries to hurt her?" Arkham said vehemently. Harleen could almost hear the fear in his voice. The fear of a lawsuit. "She's a young woman, I would not put it past him."

"And that's why you'll be there." She heard a slight 'smack,' and knew that Bartholomew had slightly tapped Arkham on the shoulder. She longed to peak in, but was afraid of getting caught. At this point, her report had completely slipped out of her mind. "Just give her one chance, Doctor. Just one."

"Why her, hm?" Arkham retorted, voice growing suspicious. "Why not yourself, or some other doctor or intern?"

"I'm too old to handle a situation like this," Bartholomew answered with a sigh. "The Joker would cut through me like a knife. Harleen has spirit. And I truly believe that her unconventional methods will be very helpful."

There was silence for a brief moment as Arkham considered what to say next. Harleen knew that Bartholomew had gotten to him. But even she was suspicious of his motives. His reasoning did not fully convince her. And who exactly was this patient that they were discussing? Deep down, Harleen knew, but tried to persuade herself that it was someone else. Victor Zsasz, perhaps. He was surely very dangerous.

"Alright," Arkham finally said, relenting. "But you will be the one to inform her of the situation. He comes tomorrow, and that means she'll be starting up right away." 

"Er, yes sir. Of course sir," Bartholomew said nervously. He knew that Harleen was not going to be too keen on this, and Arkham was aware of that. No one wanted the wrath of Harleen on them.

Harleen stared at the floor silently, taking in everything that she had heard. She was going to listen in on the Joker's therapy sessions. No, she was going to be in the actual room during the sessions. She was going to see his face, his monstrous, monstrous face.

Harleen felt herself grow dizzy, and hastily returned to her office, closing the door behind her and locking it. Breathing heavily, she slid go the ground and gazed down at her grey pleated pants and black high-heeled shoes against the yellowing floor beneath her.

"Alright, calm down Harley." She tried to control her breathing to a steady pace. "You won't actually be treating him. You'll just be watching over the sessions, just watching over. Won't have to say a word. Won't even have to look at him. Just stare down at your clipboard and write."

Her hands were shaking, and her silver chain bracelet was clattering vociferously on the floor. She pulled her hands towards her face and looked at them. She watched as they balled into fists and suddenly, she stood up with a look of determination.

"This is your chance, Harley," she began, pacing the room, all traces of her nerves disappearing entirely. "How often does an intern get to listen in on a session with the Joker? You wanted excitement, you got it."

And with that said, she smiled to herself and stopped what she was doing. "But first to get that report I printed out."

Harleen returned to the break room, relieved to see that its former occupants had already left, and grabbed the papers from the top of the printer. All she had left to do for the day was staple these papers, put them in Arkham's mailbox, and then head home. Seven and a half hours of sleep wasn't going to be too bad, although eight would have been better for preparing herself for what was going to be coming tomorrow.

**A/N: **Well, as I've said before, this is a reboot. I was reading my other story and I realized just how bad it really was. Over the past few weeks, I've been reading other Joker/Harley stories, and I've watched The Dark Knight several times, and suddenly had the inspiration to write this lovely piece of work. As I first started writing it, everything was just falling into place. I knew exactly what I wanted to happen next, how it was going to happen, etc.

So tell me what you thought of it. Did you like it? Was it better than The Last Laugh? Is this a realistic Harley? Is this a realistic situation? Give me some feedback folks! I'm really excited about this new story, and I hope that I'll gather a large fanbase for it as well.

Don't worry, the Joker will be in the next one.


	2. In Session

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harley. Or Batman. Or the Joker. Or Bartholomew. Or Arkham. Or Dr. Arkham. That's all DC's. At some point, there will be someone I own!**

Harleen gripped her Styrofoam cup of coffee tightly as she made her way down the halls of Arkham to her office. It had been a rough night, and the sickly yellow upon yellow décor of the asylum was not helping. She could not fall asleep at all the previous night. She was too excited, and like a child on Christmas Eve, the enthusiasm kept her awake. There was no Santa Claus waiting for her in the morning, nor presents underneath a tree. Instead, something different waited for her at the asylum.

Multiple cups of coffee and eye drops were going to be necessary.

She unlocked her office and stepped inside, gently closing the door behind her. Even the slightest loud noise would just increase her headache. Glancing at the time on her computer, she let out a long, exasperated sigh. It was only eight o'clock. Her first appointment was not until eight thirty, and the Joker would not be in the asylum until nine o'clock at night. She knew that she and Arkham would not be starting his treatment until later on in the week, but she couldn't help but feel anticipation bubble up inside of her. Harleen knew very well that his presence alone was going to change things at the institution.

She shrugged it off, and tried her best to forget about the clown. If she didn't, she knew that this day was going to take a very long time.

Then, she remembered last night, and wondered when Bartholomew was going to break the news to her. Would he come to her? Would she be asked to come to him?

_Well, I'll just go throughout my day as normal, and we'll see what happens._

Harleen stared at her tiny office. She knew she should have been grateful for having one at all, since she was an intern, but she could never fully appreciated the stuffiness of the room. It was practically a closet, and Arkham had put all of the patient's files in this room, into a wall of file cabinets. Not only was it stuffy, but also smelly. The fowl stench of mold was in the air, and there was only a single window in the back to air it out, which did Harleen no good during the winter. The lights that were once white were now a yellow, sickly color. As soon as she was a full-fledged doctor, she was going to do something about this.

This thought was definite. Sure, at the moment, she was just an intern, but if the amount of successes she's had continues to increase, and if she lives through the whole Joker fiasco, they were surely to make her a doctor. Arkham would be foolish not to.

With dazzling thoughts of the future in her head, Harleen grabbed her patient's file out of the cabinet and made her way down the hall to the other end of the building, where the detainees were being held. She began reading her notes halfway down and paused. She was thoughtful for a moment, and then suddenly turned around and headed back to her office. She rummaged around a drawer for a moment, until she found what she needed. It was an old video camera, similar to the size of a small shoebox, but it suited her purpose. Closing the draw gently, she once again began her journey to the cell block.

"Mornin', Ms. Harleen," the guard greeted casually, a stiff smile on his face.

All orderlies at the asylum were big men, with muscle bulging out of their uniforms. It was required for them to be very strong, or else they would not be able to handle the prisoners here. This guard was no different. His name was Frank, and he had the morning shift here, in front of the cell block, during the weekdays. Being here at least twice a week, Harleen and Frank had become acquaintances.

"Good morning, Frank," Harleen said, eyes glancing up briefly from her notes.

Frank stood up and opened the gate. Harleen made her way in, heels clicking on the old tiles, with Frank following suit. The two walked silently down the hall of doors, until they found the one they needed. The guard unlocked the door, and let her in.

"Sure you don't need me to stay out here, just in case?" Frank asked, as he always did before Harleen saw a patient.

She shook her head and turned around in the doorway. Everybody always underestimated her. Not too big of a surprise, considering her size. She was merely five foot six, and she was very skinny. She liked it when people underestimated her. She liked seeing the look on their faces when she succeeded.

"There's no need for that."

Frank simply shrugged, mumbling a quick, "I'll come getchu in an hour."

And the door closed.

"Good morning, Thomas," Harleen smiled pleasantly to her patient. She always preferred to address her patients by their real names, instead of their patient number, as was standard protocol.

Schiff was sitting on his cot of a bed, hands resting on his knees and face being hidden by his greasy black hair.

"Good, good morning, Dr. Quinz-zel," he greeted timidly, still not looking at her face. He was very twitchy this morning, Harleen noted.

She sat into a chair at the table in the center of the room, and set a video camera on top of the table. She wanted to record today's session. Schiff didn't seem to notice. She smiled to herself and pressed the play button, making sure the camera screen was centered on her patient.

"Dr. Quinzel interviewing Thomas Schiff, patient 3859," she began, making sure to keep a trained eye on her patient. "Eight thirty a.m., January fourth. Thomas, what is two plus two?"

Finally, his gaze reached hers. It was a curious look, and his lip twitched slightly. He struggled out an answer. "Fa-fa-four."

Harleen smiled at him, and he seemed to sit up straighter. "Now, four plus five?"

"Nine." His answer came out faster this time, and more confident. He was still very suspicious, his expression not changing.

"Eight plus nine?" Harleen's pen was poised over her paper, waiting to hear his response.

This one took him a bit longer than the other two, and his face stared at the floor in concentration. She trusted he was doing the math in his head, and had not become distracted by the molding floor. Just as she was about to give up hope, his head snapped up, answer ready on his lips.

"Seventeen."

Harleen's smile grew wider, secretly applauding him in his head. "Very good, Thomas."

She began writing on her clipboard.

_His mind is working well today. Responded well to the math. Was almost proud of himself, and received my praise happily. Grew more confident with each response. Lost some in the more difficult question, but was not violent about it. _

"Dr. Quinzel," he began nervously, slowly standing up and sitting in the seat on the other side of the table. "How is knowing…math…supposed to ha-help me?"

She looked at him for a moment, and noticed he keep pursing and unpursing his lips nervously. She wrote it down.

_Nervous habits still intact._

"I just wanted to see how your memory was working," Harleen answered amiably, finishing her note. "Most of our patients would've had troubled remembering such simple math, but not you. I'm pleasantly surprised."

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but he refused to let it show.

"I am going to ask you a few more questions now. You are trying to get into your home-" She began, but Schiff cut her off.

"I don't have a home." His previous, happy demeanor had suddenly been sucked away. She didn't let this faze her.

"At some point you had a home," she reminded him. "Think back to that time. When you would come home from school to see your parents. Now, you're trying to get into your home, but the door is locked. How can you get in?"

His curiosity had returned, and his mouth open and closed as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't get the words out.

"There's more than one way, Thomas."

Schiff looked at her and swallowed harshly. His eyebrows were knitted together, not because he was trying to answer the question, but because he was trying to figure out if she had an ulterior motive. Harleen only smiled at him, eyes friendly through her glasses.

"Even if the way is…bad?" he asked curiously, mouth twitching once more.

"At the moment, that is not the point." She returned to her clipboard, writing something down on her piece of paper, which set Schiff even more on edge.

_Afraid he'll give a wrong answer. Wrong, as in morally wrong. He is recognizing some methods as bad. _

Harleen was pleased with her results thus far.

"You can…you can use a key…" Schiff said fretfully. The sudden response startled Harleen, only slightly, only because she did not expect him to answer so soon. Perhaps he was trying to please her now? Receive more praise? She had to hide her anticipation so as not to throw off this progress.

"How else, Thomas?" She nodded her head at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"You can pick the…lock…" He started off strong, but then ended weakly. Harleen motioned for him to continue. This seemed to boost his confidence. "You can break it down…you can knock to see if someone is there…"

His lip had stopped twitching and he actually smiled. And it wasn't his devious little smirk that she had seen the first time she had began his treatment, but a happy one. The first one she'd seen, during their two months of sessions.

_Excellent responses. Is really thinking outside of the box now. Not just criminal methods, but also normal methods. 'Knock on the door.' He is now pleased with himself. __Smiled._

She made sure to underline the last one. This was a most excellent day for Thomas Schiff. Which meant it was an excellent day for Harleen.

"Outstanding work today, Thomas," Harleen congratulated him, her face positively beaming, which made his smile even wider. She reached over the table and shut the camera off, placing it in her lap and out of sight. She wanted to shove the tape into Jeremiah's face, and have him then tell her that Thomas Schiff was, 'untreatable.'

"I will see you on Thursday," she told him, standing up and making her way out of the room.

"Goodbye, doctor…" his voice trailed off, but he continued to sit in his chair and twiddle his thumbs.

Harleen pounded on the door a few times, and after a brief pause, Frank came and opened the exit for her.

"You're done early," he noted to her, locking Schiff's door back into place.

"Quality is always better than quantity," Harleen answered with a pleased smile. And boy, was her work of fine quality that day.

Other doctors at this institution tried to talk about their patient's feelings or about their patient's past, trying to find an abusive father, or a neglecting mother. Not Harleen. She liked her patients to get comfortable with her, to like her as a person, and not as a doctor. Then, she tries to make them feel as normal as possible. Most doctors didn't like that, simply because their patients were not normal.

But what do you expect for working at a mental institution for the criminally insane?

**A/N: Yeah I lied, I said there would be the Joker in this one, but sadly there is not. I originally had him in this chapter, but I decided it was way too long, so I saved it for the next chapter. Nope, I lied again. Mr. J won't be here, officially, until chapter four. :D Sorry folks, I just want to get as much background information in here as possible, without each chapter being too lengthy. **

**What did you think about my first session with Schiff? I hope some of you recognized him from TDK. I wanted her first patient to be with someone simple, and easy, but also recognizable. And Schiff won. Were you able to understand how Harleen was helping him? I'm not a psychiatrist, but I did my best to make this situation seem as realistic as possible. Thoughts?**

**What did you think folks? Like it? Hate it? Something I should change? Something you want me to add? I'm all ears for constructive criticism! Come on folks, hook me up with the help!**


	3. Dropping the Bomb

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harley. Or Batman. Or the Joker. Or Bartholomew. Or Arkham. Or Dr. Arkham. That's all DC's. At some point, there will be someone I own!**

The clocked ticked at her, malevolently, as if teasing her.

Tick tick tick tick tick tick

No matter how hard she stared the thing, it would not move faster. At the moment, that was all she wanted; time to move faster.

Harleen fell back into her chair in a huff, exhaling through her nose. It was seven thirty two, and Bartholomew had yet to break the news to her. And the Joker was to be making his grand entrance in less than two hours.

After her session had ended with Schiff, she had spent the day running errands for other doctors, and helping out the orderlies. She sat and talked with the patients during lunch, and even witnessed a fight between two of the more violent men. But that was the extent of her excitement.

"Quinzel," someone called out from the doorway, causing Harleen to jump. An orderly was staring at her, looking very uninterested. "Arkham wants to see you in his office. Immediately."

Harleen nodded her head and followed the man out the door. Although she knew the way to Arkham's office, she still followed the man. She knew what this was going to be about. They were finally going to tell her about her new assignment. She knew she should be excited, maybe a little nervous, but for some reason, all she could say was, "It's about freaking time."

Arkham was sitting on the corner of his desk, knees crossed, gaze glued to the small television that resided in the corner. Once the door opened and Harleen and the orderly entered, Arkham glanced behind him briefly and then paused the video, turning around and giving her a warm smile.

"Ah, Harleen!" he greeted her, gesturing for a chair. As she sat down, he did likewise in his own chair and continued speaking. "I've been watching your tapes lately, your sessions with patient 3859-"

"His name is Thomas Schiff," she reminded him pointedly, keeping her expression cool. She knew Arkham liked to use patient numbers and not names. 'Too personal,' he would always say. He coughed uncomfortably at the sudden interruption, but let it pass.

"Mr. Schiff, then. I have been watching your sessions with him, and might I say I am very impressed with your work." He paused letting the information soak in. Her expression didn't change.

What did he expect from her? An enormous thank you for his praise? She knew he was just buttering her up before he dropped the bomb.

_What a shmuck._

Despite her cold response, he wasn't unnerved. He wasn't even surprised. "As you know, we are having a very special patient check into the asylum today-"

"The Joker," she caught him off once more, narrowing her eyes. Now he was becoming irritated. She knew it. She saw it. She liked it. His smile faltered, and he decided to get right to the point. A wise decision on his part.

"I want you to assist me with his treatment."

He said the last word with a hint of sarcasm, just a hint, but Harleen heard it. Not that she disagreed with it. Treat the Joker? It was laughable.

"How can I, a lowly intern, assist you, Dr. Arkham?" she asked politely, batting her eyelashes over her baby blue eyes. She figured playing dumb was a better route to choose. A more entertaining route.

"You'll just be in charge of sitting in the corner, at a reasonable distance from him," he explained to her. "Taking notes. Finding anything that I could miss. You won't even have to speak to him or anything. And, if you succeed…"

His voice trailed off and he smirked at her, knowing that this would make her happy, if anything.

"You will be promoted to a permanent psychologist at this institution."

Harleen could not contain her emotions any longer. A huge smile spread over her lips, finally satisfying Arkham.

"And I'll get a new office?" she asked eagerly, smile still intact.

He nodded his head. "And some new equipment." He pointed to the video screen, which was very fuzzy and a slightly yellowish color. "And as you know, he is making his grand entrance here tonight-"

"And you want me there to help restrain him? Give him medication?" she asked, already knowing what he was going to say.

"Actually," Arkham said, pulling his lips in, bracing himself for what he really wanted to say. "I don't want him to see you."

She noticed how he said 'he' see her, and not the other way around.

"Not until our first session, which isn't-" He cut her off before she can say anything this time. "Until next week. Starting Monday, and every Wednesday and Friday after that, from eleven to noon. You will continue to monitor patient- I mean, Mr. Schiff, on your regular Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Mr. Arkham, why exactly is it that I am not allowed to see him?" Harleen asked heatedly, feeling her anger boil inside of her. "If I am going to be one of his doctors, then I should be there."

Arkham chuckled to himself lightly, shaking his head, as if saying to himself, 'silly, naïve Harleen.' This only caused her to become even more distraught with the middle aged man in front of her.

_If only looks could kill…_

"Ms. Quinzel," he started off, leaning back in his chair casually and crossing his legs. This was supposed to be Harleen's superior. She rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid that you would just be too eager around him. He would break you down the moment he laid eyes on you."

There was a slight pause as Harleen stared him down. She knew better. She wasn't stupid.

Exhaling out her nose slowly, she began speaking to him in a calm, cool, and collected manner.

"Dr. Arkham, not to say that I am going against your directions, but-"

"If you want that promotion, you must do as I say, Harleen," Arkham retorted, not even allowing her to finish her sentence.

His eyes were closed as he was trying to contain his anger, and Harleen was not about to protest. He had something over her, and he would use it. She wanted very badly to see the Joker, to see the face that had caused so much terror over Gotham City, and she had to wait until next week. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from yelling something angry and irrational. Instead, she took a deep breath.

"And what will he be doing in the meantime?"

"I will be having sessions with him, just tomorrow and Friday, where I will assess him myself," he answered smugly. She wanted to wipe that smirk off of his face with her three inch heels. "I want to give you my notes on him for you to study, just so you'll be able to handle it."

Harleen didn't mind the research part. It would be nice to have something to go on during their sessions. Something to brace herself with.

"Alright fine, I'll go home early tonight," she relented, pushing her glasses up her face.

"Excellent!" Arkham exclaimed in triumph. "Now, just gather up the rest of your work, and I will see you-"

"Just so you know, Jeremiah," she stopped him, for the third time that evening, just because she could. "I know very well why you don't want him to see me."

She saw his face harden once more, and made her way to the door frame where she turned around, eyes filled with ambiguity, and winked. She left the room in silence, only noise being made was the clicking of her heels on the hard tile floor.

In actuality, she had no idea why he didn't want the Joker to see her. She just said that to bruise his ego, deflate his head just a tad. Although if Harleen had to guess, it was because she was his secret weapon. Something that a man like the Joker wouldn't see coming. Although why he didn't just tell her this in the first place was beyond her.

Harleen loathed that man with every fiber of her being. He was the youngest owner of the institution, being only thirty two, six years her senior, but that was just because no one else wanted the job. He was arrogant, and he tried to prove everybody wrong, which he did to her quite frequently.

Her thoughts running around her brain vehemently, she did not notice that the doctors and nurses were running around chaotically, orderlies yelling into walkie-talkies, a voice screaming something incoherently on the loud speaker. Harleen grabbed one of the nurses and demanded to know what was going on.

"It's the Joker!" she practically squeaked out, her voice very distracted. Her eyes were darting around, looking for where she needed to go.

Harleen could have sworn that her heart had stopped beating at that very second.

"What about him? He's not due here for another hour!" Harleen wanted her to get straight to the point. He wasn't even here yet, and he was still causing a mass panic.

"They're bringing him in early." And with that, the little nurse took off down the hall.

She was the only one standing still in the hallway as she tried to take in what was just said, the other doctors just blurs of colors before her unseeing eyes. Her breathing had spiked slightly, as she experienced a sudden rush of adrenaline. The Joker was coming in early. The Joker was coming in early. The Joker was coming in early, and she needed to get the hell out of there.

She took off running in the direction of her office, finally coming in sync with the others around her, when she stopped. The temptation was just too great. She just wanted a little peak at him. Would he be wearing his make-up? Would he be in a straight jacket? It was natural for a girl to be curious, especially about one of her future patients.

Biting her lip, she started to backtrack in the opposite direction, when suddenly, she felt two hands upon her shoulders, whipping her around.

"The exit is that way, Ms. Quinzel," Arkham told her, pointing to the front of the asylum, eyes distrusting. She could detect a hint of panic in his large, hazel eyes.

"Yes, Dr. Arkham…of course…"

And that was the end of her escapade. She returned to her office, grabbed her purse and coat, and headed towards the main entrance. The secretary was missing from her usual post at the front desk, trying to deal with the whole Joker mess, Harleen was sure, so she had to let herself out.

She walked down the steps of Arkham's main entrance, and headed towards the parking garage, half a mile away. Gotham City was a dangerous place to be at night, especially in the narrows. She made sure to look determined as she walked diligently to her car, just as she was trained. Arkham Asylum wanted its doctors to be protected.

Her keys were buried somewhere in her purse, and by the time she had found them, about five police cars and two SWAT team trucks had pulled up to the entrance. It was far away, so Harleen was not sure of what was going on. One of the trucks opened, and an officer hopped out quickly, as if inside he had just been pounding on the door, trying to get out. Shouting could be heard, but it was unintelligible, even if she strained her ears as hard as possible. And then, someone else came out of the truck. Well, more like trudged. They were wearing a white straight jacket, and dark pants, perhaps a dark blue, or purple. Their hair was dyed a harsh shade of green, and that's when Harleen knew.

"The Joker…" she whispered to herself, letting her keys drop to the ground. At the moment, getting into her car and safely home was not one of her concerns. The Joker was standing there, right in front of her, only a few yards away. She wanted so badly to run over there and just like at him. See his infamous scars, but this time not through a television set or a camera lens.

He jumped off the back of the truck, and silently made his way up the building, as if he didn't even notice the fifteen or so guards surrounding him with guns and nightsticks. A helicopter flashed overhead, highlighting the Joker.

He stopped then, and looked up at the bright light, making a face of playful annoyance. Speaking to one of the guards resulted in him getting beat over the head. Harleen had assumed he was trying to tell a joke. He was the Joker, after all.

She cursed to herself, and bit her bottom lip. Restraining herself from running straight back into that building was going to be the hardest thing she's ever had to do.

"Arkham, you son of a bitch," she mumbled to herself, and then took off angrily in her car; speed much higher than was legal.

**A/N: Hello, my adoring fans! I want to thank NovemberDreamin and ****ComtesseDeChagny for reviewing****. It always makes me smile knowing I'm making SOMEONE happy. :D**

**Sorry for another background chapter guys. Legit, the Joker will be in chapter four, and not just briefly as in here. **

**I feel like…something is missing. I don't think Harleen is personable enough…what do you think? She needs something and I can't put my finger on it. Well, leave a reviewwwww!**


	4. Control Issues

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harley. Or Batman. Or the Joker. Or Bartholomew. Or Arkham. Or Dr. Arkham. That's all DC's. I don't own Blackberries either. I wish I did. I'd be rich right now.**

Blending into the crowds in the streets of Gotham was an easy thing to do. You just needed to act like you knew exactly where you were going, not look anyone in the eye, and just be as rude as physically possible.

The light changed from a red hand, to a green picture of two people walking. The crowd gathered at the corner all crossed the street, flowing out like a river that was being held up by a dam. Harleen's Blackberry vibrated in her purse, and she hastily pulled it out, while still managing not to run into everybody. She was a woman, and women were good at multitasking.

She pressed a few buttons on the phone and returned it back to its original place, mumbling something about 'Damn student loans…" Suddenly, something caught her eye. Well, more like someone. Everybody was too busy rushing off to the places that they needed to go to notice a single man standing on the corner of the street. It looked like he was waiting for something. A bus perhaps, but that corner was not a bus stop. Harleen dodged a few people, but still continued to stare at the man. It wasn't what he was doing that was bothering her; in fact, it was the make-up he had on his face. No, not eyeliner and mascara, but…clown make-up. He had painted his entire face white, and filled in around his eyes with black. Across his mouth was a large, red painted smile, stretching farther than a normal smile would. It was like a cross between a clown and a…skull. The sight intrigued Harleen, but she wasn't dumb enough to approach him. Perhaps he was a street performer. Or some new breed of mime. But he was dressed in normal clothes…

That was when he turned his head slightly and caught her eye, causing Harleen to fall back onto someone in surprise.

"Hey, watch where you're goin', lady!" Some man yelled at her.

She muttered an apology to him inattentively, returning her gaze to the man on the corner. He was still there, and she noticed he was holding something white in his left hand, and a bag was hanging around his shoulder. His eyes were still on hers. A van pulled up to him unexpectedly, and just before he hopped in, he winked at her, a playful wink. The van sped away, passing her, but the windows were blacked out.

Harleen shrugged the whole situation off, deciding that the scenario was unimportant, even though not knowing was going to bother her. The phrase, 'ignorance is bliss' flashed through her mind as she returned to the flowing river of people. She must have looked like a complete idiot to the people around her, simply standing there and staring at a man with clown make-up.

It wasn't until a few months later that she discovered that the man was in fact the Joker.

"Dr. Quinzel?"

Harleen was brought back to reality. She looked up into Schiff's nervous gaze. Shaking her head, as if trying to rid herself of her thoughts, she returned to professionalism.

"Ah, yes, Thomas?" She cleared her throat and held her pencil poised over her paper as if she were about to take notes.

But today she was too unfocused. Clowns had filled her dreams that night, resulting in a restless night of sleep, if any. The day that she had seen the Joker, before he had become the infamous Clown Prince of Crime, had been a reoccurring nightmare all night.

"You seem dis…distracted today…doctor…" he mumbled, eyes staring at her from beneath his tousled black hair. He was sitting in the chair across from her, once more, with his shoulders hunched over, looking slightly uncomfortable.

_Showing concerns for me, albeit mild._

She jotted the note down absentmindedly.

"Did you dream at all, Thomas?" It wasn't a question out of pure curiosity. It was more of a way to get him to start rambling so that she wouldn't have to pay attention.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt ashamed of herself, and decided to listen intently. Perhaps offer a few interpretations here and there.

"I did…dream…" he began, eyes fixated on a spot on the table.

"Go on," Harleen told him gently, urging him with her eyes to continue. He glanced nervously at her for a brief second before continuing.

"It was about Batman…"

_Eager to share his dream. A dream about Batman. Find cause of dream. _

"Do you often have dreams about Batman?" she asked curtly. She wasn't herself a big fan of the Batman.

"It wasn't really…a…a…dream." He whimpered to himself slightly, ignoring the tone in her voice, somewhat reverting back to his previous behavior. "But a memory. When Batman saved me from…Harvey Dent."

_Memory, with Batman and Ha_

She stopped what she was writing. Batman saved him from Harvey Dent? She mentally cursed to herself. He was mistaking a dream for a memory, and also coming up with more conspiracy theories against his life.

The scratching out of the uncompleted sentenced caught Schiff's attention, causing him to become unnerved once more.

"How did Batman save you exactly, Thomas?" she asked, not wanting him to pull back into his shell by telling him he was wrong.

"Mr. Dent took the ambulance I was in…after I was shot…" He looked nervous as he explained this to her, but she could tell he was digging deep into himself.

_It's like he's revealing a secret to me, a secret about himself. Applying the day he was sent to Arkham to his dream._

"You mean, at the ceremony for Commissioner Loeb?" Harleen asked, trying to picture it in her head. Schiff nodded and then continued, sounding bolder.

"He wanted information on the…the…the Joker." He had difficulty getting the name out, which was understandable. "He pointed a gun at my head. Threaten to shoot me if I didn't tell…but then he flipped a coin."

Harleen was writing down little points to the story. It was very bizarre. It had to be a dream. But what bothered Harleen the most was how vivid his descriptions were, and the fact that he remembered so much.

"Heads I lived, tails…" his voice drifted off, but Harleen got the point. "I told him I didn't know…know anything about him…and he didn't believe me…I would have died if…if Batman hadn't…stopped him."

"And then what?"

"Mr. Dent took me back…after my leg was taken care of, I came here…"

He looked up at her expectantly. She only returned the gaze.

The story startled Harleen. Not because of its contents, but because of how plausible it was. When Schiff was caught, the stolen uniform he was wearing bore a nametag that read, 'Rachel Dawes,' the DA's former girlfriend, God rest both of their souls. In a fit of anger, he drove off with the ambulance Schiff was in, and threatened him to get information. If this was true, than Mr. Dent, Gotham's White Knight, had a dark side.

"Thank you for sharing that with me Thomas." She pushed her glasses further up her face and pulled a blond lock behind her ear, finishing up her notes.

Her words most not have been convincing enough, for his next statement was, "You don't…ba-believe me." He looked utterly crestfallen, baggy eyes staring at the ground, shoulders slumped, and a pained expression on his face.

"Is that why you never mentioned this before?" Her question surprised him. "You were afraid no one would believe you?" 

His head nodded slowly up and down, eyes wide with shock.

"I understand. Mr. Dent was a very important figure in Gotham, and for someone to tell such a story, whether it be the truth or not, would be widely ridiculed by anyone who heard it. It was probably a wise decision to keep it to yourself." She glanced at her watch briefly to check the time. "Our session is done for today. I will be sure to see you next Tuesday."

She gathered up her possessions and pounded on the old door, signaling for Frank to let her out.

"Is it…is it true?" Schiff asked suddenly, stopping Harleen from leaving.

"Is what true?" she asked just as Frank unbolted the door, even though she already had an idea as to what the question was going to be.

"That the…the…_he's_ here?" His answer came out in a low whisper, as if it were forbidden for him to say his name. But Harleen knew exactly who he was talking about. It appeared as if he was waiting the entire session to ask this question.

"Yes," she answered candidly, not wanting to lie. Lying, especially since she was aware that he already knew about the Joker's arrival, would only be a step back in their progress. "But don't worry, Thomas, he will be as far away from you as possible. It would be unfeasible for him to harm you. Not if I have anything to do with it."

Figuring that was the end of that conversation, she turned to leave through the door being impatiently held open by Frank. But she was wrong.

"But I want to see him." His statement was said in a tone so strong, that it did not sound like Schiff at all. It caught her off guard. She honestly became worried.

"He said things to me, things that made sense," Schiff continued, hands and mouth twitching, eyes wild. "It was the only thing to ever make sense to me. I need to see him. I need to see him."

"Aw shit. I know that look. Ms. Quinzel, get out now," Frank said, beginning to pull out a nightstick. Harleen was appalled.

"Frank, put that away now!"

Just as she got the very last word out, Schiff leaped across the table and made his way to the door, scrambling towards her like a wild dog. Frank shoved Harleen out of the way, causing her to slam painfully into the hard wall. Crying out in pain, she fell to the floor and held her hurt shoulder, watching as Frank effortlessly grabbed Schiff by the collar and pushed him into the wall, directly next to where Harleen sat and watched angrily. Frank pulled out a syringe to sedate him when she called out.

"Wait!" she grunted, standing up and facing Schiff's struggling form.

"I need to sedate-"

"I know, just give me a second to try and get through to him." Frank obliged, but still did not let go of the frenzied madman. She looked at him in the eyes, and saw that he did not see her.

"Thomas. Thomas, listen to me. Listen to me!" His struggling slowed, but only slightly. He was listening to her. "The Joker was the one who put you here. It was because of him that you were shot in the leg, and almost killed by Dent."

Frank gave her a funny look, and Harleen returned it with one that said, "I'll explain later."

"If he hadn't of found you, you would be living at home right now," she explained to him in a firm tone. Schiff was calming down. He was now looking at her directly in the eye. "You would be happy and not residing in this hell hole, resorting to doctors and medications. He ruined your life. His logic is wrong. Everything he said to you was wrong. Remember our sessions; remember all the things that I have said to you. The Joker doesn't care for you. He used you, and then let you get captured. I care for you Thomas. You are smart, and capable of existing on your own without any other forces. Don't let him control you."

"But…I, I, I….I need him…" He wasn't fighting hard enough.

"No you don't need him. You need yourself, your own mind."

"I do…I don't…I don't need him…" He repeated the words to himself, over and over again, and eventually, he stopped moving. He closed his eyes and tears began pouring out. Franks grip went limp, and Schiff's body lowered itself to the floor. His sobs echoed throughout the mostly empty room. Harleen and Frank just stared at him, Harleen with a look of pity and Frank with a look of pure shock.

"How…how did you do that?" Frank asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the sobbing man.

"Simple," she answered just as softly. "All his life he was being controlled by people. His parents, his family, his teachers, and the Joker. I appealed to his inner desire to be free of all his constraints. It was a long shot, but it seemed to have worked."

"Holy shit…" he muttered, scratching his head in confusion. "You're one hell of a doctor, Ms. Quinzel."

Her lips pulled up into a small smirk, but she said nothing. Instead, she fell down onto her knees and grabbed his hand. He tried to yank away, like a fish on a hook, but Harleen held his hand firmly. Schiff looked at her through puffy red eyes, and Harley gave him a genuine smile.

Normally, when one was given a smile, they were supposed to return it with one of their own. Apparently, Schiff didn't know that. Instead, he pulled Harleen into him and wrapped his arm around her neck before she could respond appropriately. Instinctively, she put her hands around his arm and tried to pull with all her might, panic evident. For such a small man, his grip was tight and no matter how hard she tried, she could not pry him off.

Frank pulled out a tranquilizer gun and pointed it at Schiff's face. "Let her go Schiff!"

Spots started to form around her eyes as she sat helplessly, gasping for air.

Schiff was making that horrible, whimpering laugh he did whenever he got a little too excited. Becoming desperate, she brought her arms up and hit began pounding him in the face, but he didn't even flinch.

"Just...shoot…him," Harleen managed to cry out to Frank, voice distorted due to Schiff crushing force on her esophagus.

She heard the sweet relief of a dart being shot out of the gun, and Schiff's arm go limp. But unfortunately, it was a tad too late. Slowly, she felt herself drift into unconsciousness. The only thought in her mind was, 'Well there goes all that progress…'

**A/N: That darn Schiff!**

**Snow day for me tomorrow folks! Woo! That means you guys get a special treat! A new chapter! :O Whoa there. **

**Ok, so I changed that ending like, three times. At first, it was a sunshine and rainbows ending. Schiff told Harleen thank you. And I was like, aww. Gag me. SO, I changed it to her choking him and then here just passing out. Then I edited again. Hopefully this ending works. **

**Thanks to keepyourselfalive for leaving me that awesome review. :D I'm glad I made a bangin' Harley and a shmucky Arkham. Hate away my friend, hate away. **

**And thanks once again to NovemberDreamin. I always appreciate your double spaced reviews. And yes, I saw that typo and was like…aw poo. Eventually I'll get around to fixing that. And yeah, that is a good suggestion. I think I had something like that in mind, too. **

**Wellllll I did say that the Joker was LEGIT going to be in this one. And he was. Even though it was a brief cameo. Again. I promise there will be an actual session in the next one. You can trust me, because it's already written. Well, mostly. **

**Leave a review folks! Otherwise, it makes me feel like a poor writer…and that you all hate me…and then the world hates me…sorry. I'm a bit of a drama queen. But seriously, leave a review! Let me know if I'm doing a good job or not. **


	5. Patient 6823

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harley. Or Batman. Or the Joker. Or Bartholomew. Or Arkham. Or Dr. Arkham. That's all DC's. **

There were muffled voices around Harleen as she woke up. Just barely audible swirls of sound that subsequently entered her sleeping mind, forcing her to come back to reality. Groaning, she slowly pried her eyes open, but then immediately shut them once more as soon as she was blinded by the yellow lights that she recognized from the asylum. She took in a deep breath.

_Yup, definitely still in Arkham. _

She pressed a cool hand to her forehead in the false hopes that it would help prevent an inevitable headache and blinked her eyes open for a second time. She recognized the office she was in, along with its occupants. Arkham and Bartholomew were talking in hushed tones in the corner of the room when they both noticed that she was awake and rushed to her side, both looking concerned. She suddenly felt self-conscious with all the attention, and then embarrassed, as the events from her session with Schiff replayed themselves in her mind.

"Can I…ah damn it," her thought process was disrupted by a sharp pang of pain in her head.

"You should lye back down," Arkham advised, putting a hand on her shoulder and putting a slight pressure on it. "It'll make your head better."

Harleen shoved his arm off stubbornly, not liking to be told what to do, and ignored his orders.

"Can I just get a drink of water?" she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose and avoiding eye contact.

"And perhaps some ibuprofen," Bartholomew suggested, standing up and exiting the room.

The room was eerily quiet as Harleen and Arkham remained, neither of them talking to one another nor wanting to. But she knew the silence had to end, no matter how much she enjoyed it.

"How long have I been out?"

"Just a few hours. Frank told me about what happened," he informed her. It was about time that he learned that beating around the bush with Harleen would get him nowhere. "You handled the situation very nicely…that is, until the end there."

"I thought I had things under control," she growled angrily, finally whipping her head around to look at him, ignoring the throbbing it caused her. Her rage overcame her embarrassment and the pain. "I knew I had things in control. I had Schiff right where I wanted him."

"You trusted him, Quinzel," he told her, staring at her pointedly. He was like a father scolding his little girl. "And you let your guard down. Very amateur mistakes. I'm starting to rethink putting you as my assistant. We most certainly wouldn't want a repeat of this, now would we?"

Silence took residence in the room once more, but stayed only until Bartholomew opened the door and handed a plastic cup of water and a pill to Harleen. She didn't even acknowledge the older man, but continued to visibly glare at her boss. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something different about Arkham. His appearance was older, as if he had aged in the 24 hours since she last saw him.

_Did the Joker cause this? Is he really had that much of an effect on him, already?_

She shrugged the thought away. She was too angry with him to feel any pity. Only loathing. He told her what went wrong? Had the nerve, the audacity to threaten to take her off the Joker's case? She knew exactly what had happened. Yes, she had let her guard down, but there was a reason for that.

Bartholomew stared awkwardly at the two, hands full of water and medicine, acting as a barrier between the impending wars. Eventually those walls would have to be forcefully removed.

"That was not the sole reason of why that happened, Arkham," she yelled, standing up and looking down upon her alleged superior. He looked slightly taken back. "Yes, I did let my guard down, but do you know why? It was because I had underestimated the Joker's control of this individual man. Yes, the Joker. In case you didn't know, he latched on like a parasite to Schiff, and forced false ideas into his mind. This was something that I was not aware, as I was asked to refrain from mentioning the Joker during our sessions. I guess these thoughts built up in his brain until he finally snapped once he heard the Joker was here. So am I really the one at fault here, Dr. Arkham?"

Bartholomew's hands retracted quietly, and he retreated to a chair in the corner, clearly no longer having a desire to be the mediator. Finally snatching the items out of Bartholomew's hands, she took off to her office and swallowed her pill.

When she reached her office, she slammed the door behind her, and placed her hands on her poor excuse of a desk, clenching and unclenching them, trying to regain control over her emotions.

_Way to go Harleen_, she thought to herself miserably. _You just blew your one shot at treating the Joker. Not only that, you probably lost your internship. All in one day. Bravo._

Screeching out loudly, she began to pace the small space she had in her office, which was a mere four steps in either direction.

_Think Harleen, think!_ Her brain shouted at her urgently. _You need this job. You need to become a psychiatrist. _

Sighing at last, she sat down in the old computer chair and looked at Schiff's files, just staring at her, menacingly. She flipped open the cover and saw his profile.

**Name: Thomas Schiff**

**Age: 29**

**Height: 6'1"**

**Weight: 132 pounds**

**Diagnosis: Paranoid Schizophrenic**

She needed to include, 'under the complete and total control of the Joker' under diagnosis. Heck she was going to be fired anyways. A little graffiti wouldn't hurt. Perhaps it would help his next doctor.

There was a tap at the door and Harleen groaned, in the midst of adding in her little comment.

_Here comes Donald Trump…_

"Come in," she growled, no longer caring about professionalism.

Surprise surprise, Dr. Arkham entered her office. He looked a little more unkempt than normal; tie loose, hair flat, and baggy eyes.

"Listen, Dr. Arkham-" she began to beg to get her job back, even though it was futile, but was quickly interrupted.

"No, you listen." He was very stern, and he had every reason to be. Although, Harleen was not willing to take back what she said. She shut her mouth and bowed her head in dismay, waiting to take her punishment like a good dog. "I want you to start with the Joker and me tomorrow. 11 o'clock sharp." 

"I accept what…wait…what?" She was dumbstruck. She knew she must have looked like your typical dumb blond, with her mouth hanging open and a confused expression on her face.

"You understood exactly what went wrong in your sessions, and were not afraid to defend yourself, even if it was against your employer. I respect that. Those are qualities that I have been looking for in psychiatrists. Even more so nowadays, since I need a replacement for Dr. Crane."

_Holy shit._

"Are…ahem, are you saying that," she began, tone disbelieving. "That you think I would make a suitable replacement for Dr. Crane?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he answered with an honest to God smile.

Harleen couldn't believe it. She knew that she would one day be a real psychiatrist, but a replacement for Dr. Jonathon Crane? Head of the psychopharmacology department at Arkham? The thought was astonishing.

She brushed a hand through her blond hair and sat back in her chair, mind not really in the room.

"Thank you, thank you so much Dr. Arkham!" She stuck out a hand for him to shake, not really knowing why; just that it seemed like the kind of thing to do at a moment like this.

"It is my pleasure, Ms. Quinzel," he told her, standing up and getting ready to leave. "Just stop by my office before you leave, and I'll give you the tape of my session, and all the files you'll need on the Joker."

She nodded her head happily and watched him exit her room. She couldn't help but let out a laugh that had been trying to escape from her mouth. It was a good hardy laugh, one she hadn't had in such a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this happy or excited about anything. She had to resist the urge to skip and jump around her office, lest receiving some sort of injury in the tiny space.

Eagerly, she glanced at the clock. It was a little after one.

_What to do till closing time…_

She pulled her lips to the side and took a sit back in her chair. Then she remembered the file on her desk. Then Schiff.

_All that progress down the drain. And it's all the Joker's fault. _

Now she had another reason to hate him even more. She had to come up with a whole new game plan to get Schiff back to the level she wanted him at.

She clicked a pen open and got right back to work.

Harleen unlocked the door to her apartment with ease, shoving her keys back into her purse. It was ten o'clock, the earliest she'd been home in a long time. She set her bag on her small kitchen table and hung her coat up on the loan coat rack next to the door.

Her apartment was very typical. A one room flat, complete with a kitchen and bedroom divided by a room separator. Her dad had been generous enough to build a small bathtub for her. It wasn't much, but at least it was bigger than her office. Once her salary would go up, she would surely buy herself a real apartment, one with actual rooms.

She went over and pressed the play button her answering machine, as she saw the light was flashing.

_Hey Harley, it's Pam._

Harleen smiled at her best friend's voice.

_Just wanted to know if you wanted to leave your dank and depressing nut house and join me for lunch tomorrow. Call me back!_

The machine beeped and a second message played.

_Hi Harley. Dad calling just to check up on you. You never called like you said you would. Just making sure that you're alright. Mom wants the three of us to have dinner over the weekend. She's making a roast! Love ya, bye!_

She pulled her hair out of her tight bun and watched in the mirror as her hair fell down in golden locks on either side of her face. She debated whether she should immediately call them back, but then decided she would call them back later. At the moment, there were more pressing matters that she needed to attend to. Returning to her purse, Harleen pulled out the Joker's file and the tape of his first session with Dr. Arkham. She threw the two objects onto her bed, making the decision that addressing these matters would best be served in a style of comfort. So, she took a quick fifteen minute shower and put on her favorite flannel pajama bottoms and a white tank top. She pulled her wet hair into a quick pony tail, and once she was finally ready, she popped the tape into her very ancient VCR and rewound it to the beginning.

The tape stopped itself, and the session commenced.

The video camera was placed so that the view could only see the Joker's face, and Dr. Arkham's hand and notes.

She paused the tape, just so she could take in the crazed man being interviewed, and pulled her notes up so that they covered her mouth. He was wearing his clown make-up, except it was smeared and wearing away. You could see patches of his skin throughout his face. His expression was of sheer boredom, eyes staring off camera, she assume he was looking at Arkham. He his hair was a green, greasy, and tangled mess, clinging to his face here and there. He was in a white straight jacket, looking very uncomfortable.

She pressed play once more.

"This is Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, overseeing patient 6823," Arkham began, tone firm and confident. "Since the patient refuses to cooperate by telling us his real name, I shall be referring to him as John Doe."

The Joker's face scrunched up and he looked at Arkham skeptically. He mouthed the name, as if he were tasting it, and shuddered, clearly disapproving.

"John Doe?" he asked, saying the name out loud and shaking his head. This time Harleen was the one to shudder. "How boring. What kind of a name is that? How about something a little more, uh, ya know, like me?"

"And what would you suggest?" Arkham asked. Harleen just shook her head. Arkham was already letting him control the session.

"How 'bout Mr. Jay? Hm?" the Joker suggested, raising his eyebrows as if it were the best suggestion that could ever be given. "It's catchy. Much more exciting than John Doe."

"Yes, but it still resorts to your alter ego," Arkham pointed out, writing something down.

"What? The Joker?" the Joker asked, taken back. "That's not an _alter ego_. It's who I _am._ Who I _was_. And who I always _will be_."

"But you weren't born the Joker, were you?"

The clown rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Perhaps not by name," he began, shifting in his chair. "But by being. I knew exactly who I was when I was born."

"How? Explain it to me."

The Joker stared at him for a second, and began sucking on his teeth, making a strange, high-pitched noise. He smacked his lips, startling Arkham slightly, which the Joker snorted at.

"You people are all the same," he started, voice very low. "You think that just by, uh, talking to me that I'll reveal my inner self to you. Clearly you haven't been paying attention."

"Attention to what?"

"The _mess-age-ah_," the Joker stated simply, pressing his lips together.

Harleen paused the tape one more time and crept up closer to the television. The stare he was giving Arkham was dangerous, as if he had bigger plans going on in his head. He had dark eyes, but she couldn't tell the exact color of them exactly. Perhaps brown, or hazel. Either way, they bore into Arkham's, stripping him down, ripping away the layers of the man before him. How Arkham managed to stay so calm was beyond her.

The rest of the tape was practically the same. Arkham would ask a question, the Joker would either make a joke out of it, turn it around so he was interviewing Arkham, or just ignore him entirely. After the hour was up, Harleen pulled the tape out and set it next to her. The Joker's file was the next step. She stared at the manila folder reluctantly, not exactly wanting to find out what was in it. It could have held absolutely nothing on the man. It could hold everything. She didn't know. But she needed to be prepared, so, like a Band-Aid, she ripped it open and stared down at the Joker's face. He was holding his number up and smirking at the camera. Smirking.

**Name: Unknown**

**Age: Estimated 25-35 years old**

**Height: 6'1"**

**Weight: 180**

Then she got to the diagnosis and she didn't even bother. Every single type of disorder was listed there.

Harleen sighed, and flopped down on her bed, holding the picture up to the light.

"Who are you?"

She turned over and looked at the clock. She would be having her first session with the man in twelve hours. She knew that she should be going to sleep, but she also knew that she wouldn't be able to. Not when she knew what was going to happen tomorrow.

_Well, Pam'll kill me if I don't call her back…_

She jumped off her bed and proceeded to call her best friend. Boy did she have news for her.

**A/N: Sorry if the ending sucked. I got really annoyed and just wanted to end it. And so that's how the crappy ending came to be. Don't hate. **

**So my home was struck by Snowmageddon 2011, Snowpocolypse, SnowMG, and Snow2K. Therefore, got to stay home and write for you beautiful people. Yeah!**

**So what did you guys think, overall? And hey, the Joker was in here. Ok, it was just a video, but it's better than a brief cameo. I promise you, and this time is legit, because it's all ready to go, that the Joker will be in the next one. Not a cameo. Not on video. Cross my heart and hope to die. **

**NovemberDreamin, you're my number one baby. I'm always happy to see your reviews. Sorry if the beginning confused you. :/ it was just a brief flashback to the movie. So she saw the Joker before he really was the Joker!**

**Thank you RedHeadObsession!**

**Leave a review please! :D**

**P.S. I changed my penname, so yeah. I hope you guys like the new one. I was getting bored of the old one. **


	6. Clowns and Turtlenecks

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harley. Or Batman. Or the Joker. Or Bartholomew. Or Arkham. Or Dr. Arkham. That's all DC's. **

The bruises on Harleen's neck were very profound, even with the twenty layers of foundation she had caking it. What once was her normal, pale skin color was now covered with purplish-bluish splotches, making her resemble some sort of strange, purple leopard. Or perhaps a giraffe, with the way she was stretching her neck out. She poked at one of the discolored spots, and then grimaced when she felt pain. She shook her head, annoyed. Now she was going to have to wear a turtleneck to work. And she hated turtlenecks. They always made her feel itchy and as if they were constricting her throat.

_Well,_ she debated with herself. _It's a turtleneck or an open discussion with the Joker about my new décor. _

Sighing, she left her bathroom and returned to her dresser. Or the box that served as her dresser. She pulled out a couple of sweaters, and then found a nice scarf.

_Hm. Maybe I could just wear a scarf to work instead…_

Suddenly an image of Dracula popped into her head. Despite the appropriateness of the situation, she tossed the scarf over her head. She ended up settling for a red turtleneck sweater. She held a skirt in one hand and then a pair of pants in the other.

_The skirt would show that I am in touch with my feminine side. But it would also bring a lot of attention to my legs. The pants would cover a lot more up, but they would also show that I was aware that I was in a male-dominated field._

Oh the mind of a psychologist.

In the end, she went for the black skirt, making sure it was one of the looser ones she owned. Finally satisfied with her wardrobe choice, she looked at herself in the mirror once more.

_I look like a school-teacher._ With a grimace, she shrugged the thought off. _Eh, I'll be wearing my lab coat most of the time. _

She pulled her hair back into a low, tight bun and allowed her bangs to flow down the side of her face. Her make-up was already done; she went with natural tones for her eye shadow, easy on the eyeliner, and with a little bit of mascara. She brought out her lipstick collection. She was stuck between Fireball Red, Red Hot Red, and Shined Rose. She decided that Shined Rose would be the most appropriate shade to wear to work.

The mirror reflected a smart, young, beautiful woman, someone ready to take on the world and all that it threw at her. Regrettably, she didn't feel that way on the inside. She was terrified, and she constantly asked herself if she was ready to do this. But Harleen knew very well that she always got herself all worked up about something, and once she was thrown into the situation, she would charge through it like a trooper.

But she was never thrown at someone like the Joker before.

Her cell phone vibrated on the table, echoing very loudly in the nearly-empty room, and waking her from her thoughts. She dashed over to it, nearly tripping over her own bed on the way, and answered it, assuming that it would be the asylum, calling to tell her that something bad has happened or what not.

"Hello?" she answered, voice a little too eager. The caller didn't seem to notice.

"Hey Harley-girl," Pam greeted. Harleen pursed her lips at the nickname. "We still up for lunch?"

"Like I told you last night, Red," Harleen mumbled while attempting to put her heels on. "I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I'll try my best. Geez, you're being such a nag!"

"How so?" Pam asked, clearly not concerned with the insult. She was always like that, so breezy and easy-going. It was one of the qualities that Harleen admired about her.

"This is the third time you've called. Asking about lunch," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes in annoyance even though she couldn't see her.

"So?"

"You never do that, making me wonder whether or not you had an ulterior motive," Harleen accused.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Harleen knew what was up; her friend was never this quiet.

"You're setting me up, aren't you?" It was more of a statement than a question. She immediately was annoyed even before she received the answer.

"Of course not," Pam denied smoothly. "I just haven't seen you in a long time. Can't a girl just be excited to see her best friend?"

"No."

"Hmph. Fine. I give. There's this guy I met and he has this friend that I know would be perfect for you-"

Harleen moaned into the receiver, extra dramatically. "Red, didn't I tell you to stop playing matchmaker with me? The last guy you picked turned out to be gay."

"But Nick was so cute!"

"Yes. Cute and gay. Not exactly my type."

Pamela chuckled. "Yeah I see what you mean. But I promise you, this guy is different. He's a med student, like you were."

Harleen glanced at the time and found she didn't have time to argue.

"Fine!" she relented, shoving the Joker's files into her purse and searching frantically for her jacket. "I'll see you around one ok?"

"You're late for work, aren't you?" Pam assumed, a smile playing in her voice.

"How could you tell?" Harleen asked, but not necessarily surprised.

"You gave in too easily."

Harleen laughed and they said their good-byes. Deciding that she was ready, she checked herself one last time in the mirror, then grabbed her purse and keys and took off. Today was the day, the day she would get the chance to prove herself to the other doctors at the asylum. To prove that she wasn't just some blond bimbo who slept her way to get to the position she was at. That's all people did when they saw her, assume, assume, assume. She was about to throw their assumptions right back in their faces.

"Good morning, Dr. Quinzel," Arkham greeted as soon as she made her way over to his office. He was waiting, newspaper folded open in his hands and smile waiting on his face.

"Good morning," she greeted with a simple smile. There was an awkward silence between the two. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't we going over to the maximum security wing?" Harleen asked, glancing at him skeptically. "You did say eleven o'clock, correct?"

He smiled and nodded his head. "We need to wait to be escorted over by an orderly. And we won't be going to his room. He is going to be waiting for us in one of the interrogation rooms."

Harleen thought this odd. She knew how much Arkham liked sticking to protocol, and protocol meant having sessions in the patient's room, unless they were under investigation by the police.

"Are there going to be…policemen there, Dr. Arkham?" This was unsettling.

"Yes of course," Arkham told her, standing up and sitting on the edge of his desk. "It was part of our agreement with the GCPD. In order to keep the Joker here, he needed to be under constant surveillance by members of the police force."

She looked at him for a moment.

"And you were going to tell me this…when exactly?" she asked harshly. She was back to disliking her employer.

He shrugged at her. "I didn't realize it was of importance to you."

"Sir, it's the police."

Before Arkham could respond, there was a knock at the door. Harleen turned around, irritated at being interrupted, but then saw it was an orderly. She assumed this was the man that was going to take them to the Joker. All other emotions except for anticipation disappeared entirely.

"Ready doctors?" he asked, folding his arms so his muscles were bulging. Harleen didn't even realize that it was for her benefit.

"After you, Dr. Quinzel," Arkham told her warily, holding an arm out for her.

She ignored the gesture, but followed the orderly out. She noticed the sudden change of atmosphere as the three of them walked down the hall in silence. Arkham was apprehensive, and she could tell. The man only had one session with the Joker. This set her on edge.

"Here you are," the orderly said gruffly. "Just knock on the door if you want out early. There is a panic button underneath the table, just in case things get out of hand. And for you, Miss, I was told to give you this portable one."

He smirked at her, and gently handed a button to her. She thanked him and slipped it into her pocket. She really wished he would stop staring at her like that.

She looked around the area outside of her door. There were three policemen there, all looking very nervous. They had to have been new recruits. The GCPD needed them after all the Joker killings.

"We'll be able to hear everything that's going on," one of them told her, tipping his hat at her. "But we won't come in unless you ask for it, or the panic button goes off."

She smirked at that. They were reluctant to go in as well.

The interrogation rooms were at the far end of the building, way in back, near an exit, just in case a detainee was brought in and the police wanted to interrogate him right away. The door stared at her innocently, as if it did not hold a dangerously psychotic criminal on the other side. She mentally puffed out her chest and followed Arkham inside, who seemed to go as slowly as possible. He really did not want to see the Joker.

Stepping through the door felt like stepping into a new world.

"Hell-o-o doctor." Harleen heard him say once Arkham had entered. "Back so soon? Thought I, uh, scared you off there for a bi_t_."

His voice sent chills up and down her spine, made the hairs stick up on the back of her neck. It was nasally, but at the same time deep, and very masculine. It was like the lyrics and the music of a song that shouldn't go together, but for some strange reason, they did. She had yet to see his face and she was already terrified.

Now, she didn't want it to be like in the movies where as soon as Arkham moved out of the way, Harleen would be standing there, with some cool, collected look on her face, wind blowing her hair in a delicate fashion, etc. She did not want to draw that kind of attention for herself; she didn't think she could handle it. So, instead, she resorted to quickly moving to the corner of the room, where there was a chair awaiting her. Not only could she sense him in the room, she also felt him, his aura, his very presence. To Harleen it was almost…intoxicating. She kept her face down, pretending to read her notes. How could you function properly when you knew there was a murdering psychopath in the room?

"Hmmmm…" Harleen heard him say, like a low rumble of thunder in his chest. Safe, yet dangerous all at the same time. "I must have been a very good boy, doc."

She couldn't resist looking up and catching his eye, his wondrous, intriguing, dark, cold, sinister eyes. They were staring back at her, with amusement in them. Looking away from him was not an option. Not anymore.

She took a moment to take in the man before her, blocking Arkham out. He was propped up at the table, straight jacket on, legs shackled together, make-up and green hair absent. Without his motif, he was just an ordinary man, except his mouth was adorned with two very wide scars, trailing from the corners of his mouth to halfway up his cheek. But despite that minor flaw, he was a very handsome man.

"And why do you say that, Mr. Doe?" Arkham asked, sitting down in his folding chair, files in front of him, ready for them to be opened. There was no true curiosity in his tone.

The Joker's eyes rolled up into his head and he let out a dramatic sigh, returning his gaze to Dr. Arkham. He pulled his lips to one side in annoyance.

"I'm talking about legs over there in the corner." His faced tilted over towards Harleen and his eyes flashed dangerously. She instantly regretted wearing the skirt. "Where've you been hiding her at?

Arkham sniffed, and then pulled a video camera out of his bag, a more high-tech one than Harleen's. He set it on the table and hit the record button, lens pointed at the Joker.

That's when Harley mentally smacked her forehead with her hand. He really shouldn't be using a camera. Not with this patient. It would only boost his ego, create a desire for him to perform for an audience. She should have mentioned this before, but it slipped her mind.

"This is Dr. Arkham overseeing patient 6823," he began speaking loudly, avoiding the Joker's eye. Harleen simply watched from the corner, eyes never leaving the clown's face. "Assisted by Dr. Quinzel." The Joker's eyes flickered to Harleen's face briefly, and then returned to his current prey. "We will be referring to the patient as John Doe."

The clown groaned.

"Here we go…I thought we talked about this, Arkham," the Joker began in a disappointed tone. He was shaking his head side to side. "My name is no_t_ John Doe." He said the name in a very nasally voice. "I'm not some person running around without an identity. I know _exactly_ who I am. I am theJoker. J-o-k-e-r. Joker. Ja-oke, er. Like choker. With a j."

His tongue flicked out of his mouth, tracing his scars. Harleen wrote it down on her clipboard.

"Then why don't you share with the class your real name, hm?" Arkham retorted, spreading his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. "Then I would not have to call you Mr. Doe."

Apparently, the Joker grew bored with that topic of conversation, or just perhaps with Arkham, so he turned to Harleen. This did not please her. She did her best to make her face like as blank and expressionless as possible. Nothing for him to take and rip apart.

"Sooo-oo-oo, Dr. Quinzel-a," he began, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "What'dya do to get locked up in her with little ol' me? Hm?"

"Please refrain from speaking to my assistant," Arkham commanded strongly. The Joker simply disregarded him, but continued to eye Harleen.

Her facial expression remained the same, but not because she was calm, oh no. It was because she was slightly paralyzed.

_He's speaking to me. Oh God he's speaking to me…_

Her paralysis wasn't out of fear though. It was because she was feeling…exhilarated, an emotion did not expect. His eyes bore into her, as if he could see every inch of her physically and mentally. The scary part was that she knew that he could see it. It caused his grin to grow even wider.

"Ooooh, I like her, doc," he said, finally addressing Arkham. "I hope she sticks around. Skirt's a plus too. Such a nice change from these orange eyesores. Ever think of changing 'em to purple?"

"How did you sleep, patient 6823?" Arkham responded, ignoring the Joker's question.

"If I didn'_t _like Mr. Dooooooe," the Joker started, drawing out the name. His tongue flashed out once more. "What makes ya think I'm gonna like patient 6823?"

He exposed his yellow teeth in a grimace at the title.

"Did you dream at all?" Arkham ignored him once more, scribbingly down on his own piece of paper.

Harleen shook her head slightly at the older doctor. Clearly, the Joker was a sociopath, and ignoring him was definitely not going to benefit Arkham in any way. If anything, it was going to make matters worse.

The Joker stared at Arkham, widening one eye and then switching to the other, as if analyzing his prey. Harleen was just waiting for him to strike.

"You're married, right Doctor Arkammmmmm?" he asked casually, smacking his lips after saying Arkham's name.

Arkham ignored the question, but she could see him tense up. So it begins.

"Got any kids?" the Joker continued, despite the lack of response.

"My personal life does not belong in this session," Arkham said, sighing and rubbing a hand down his face. "Let's keep the focus on you today, shall we?"

"When they do something bad," the Joker said thoughtfully, as if Arkham hadn't responded at all.

Harleen noted that he had a tendency to completely ignore Arkham, trying to show who was the dominant one in this session, who was in charge.

"Ah, when they do something wrong, ya know, break the rules, talk back, kill the neighbor's cat…do ya lock 'em up in their rooms? Hmm?"

"I punish them how I see fit," Arkham answered, finally relenting to his will. Harleen knew this was going in a bad direction. He just confirmed that he had kids. And he yelled at her about letting her guard down. She resisted snorting at his stupidity.

"Ah, how _you _see fit?" The Joker was suddenly interested again, scooting his metal folding chair closer to the table. If he wasn't in a straight jacket, Harleen had a feeling that he would be resting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. "But how do you know that, uh, your version of 'fit' is the right one?"

"It works for my family."

"But what happens, when the day comes, and the tables turn, and your kids start to, uh, what's the word…" his voice trailed off and he scrunched up his face in concentration as he searched for the right word. "Rebel, against you? What do you do _then_?"

The Joker was applying this situation to himself. Harleen couldn't help but let a small smirk pull up at the corner of her mouth. He was good. They weren't even ten minutes into the session, and he already had control.

"New punishments are made," Arkham answered, as if the solution were natural.

"And what if these new, er, _punishments_ didn't work either? And you start to lose even more control?" the Joker asked eagerly, practically bouncing in his restraints. Harleen felt a chill as the climax of the session began drawing near. "Wha_t_ do you do now? Don't _you_ just start to lose control? You don't know what to do so you react…_violently_…as a last resort. Doesn't it feel _goooood_ to let loose? To see the fear in their eyes and just know that they were going to listen to you now?"

Arkham swallowed, and Harleen could see that he knew exactly what that felt like.

Unfortunately, Arkham wasn't getting the main point of the Joker's speech, mainly because it was being directed at him in a way that Arkham applied to himself. The Joker was, in a way, explaining himself to them. Why he stole and killed. Why he chose anarchy and chaos over order and control. He liked being the one in power, and seeing things go his way. Classic sociopath.

"Your rules don't mean anything to you at that point," the Joker concluded, eyes flickering over to Harleen. She quickly tried to cover up the smirk that she forgot that she had, but it was too late. He caught it. "So why try to go back to them?"

"Thank you for your time, patient 6823."

Arkham reached over and shut the tape off. Harleen looked up at him in alarm, wanting more than anything to talk at that very moment, but he glared at her, just daring her to speak. She remembered his words, and decided to keep quiet, turning her gaze back over to the Joker. He looked positively smug and triumphant. He had won today's game and all three people in the room were aware of it.

"Oh, and uh, Doctor Quinzel?" the Joker asked suddenly, causing both doctors to turn around. Harleen was now terrified. "Nice turtleneck."

He winked at her, but Arkham had taken her arm and pulled her out of the room. Obviously, he knew that she was hiding something.

Once the doctors were both out of the room and the Joker had been returned to his room, Arkham turned to Harleen.

"That was only a taste of what you're getting into," he told her stiffly. He was slightly shaken up.

"I…I see…" Harleen responded, sliding her glasses up her face. In all honesty, she wasn't nervous. Not at all. That session alone had been one of the most exciting things she has experienced in a long time.

The only negative part about this was that…what the Joker said, some of it actually made sense to her. Logical sense. It disturbed even herself.

"Doctor, I have a few suggestions for you, for next time," she began. Arkham started chuckling at her before she could finish.

"You suggestions for me?" he said smiling, giving her that look again. "You're just an intern."

"But I am also your assistant," she retorted, anger boiling again. She was aware of the other officers eavesdropping, so she kept her cool.

"We'll just see how the next session goes," he told her, and walked away.

Harleen was so angry with her boss at the moment that she didn't move. Not for a long period of time at least. He still underestimated her, even after going in there and coming back out alive.

_It really isn't all that impressive Harley,_ she tried to persuade herself. _I mean, if you were the one talking to him, then it would be a different story._

But she wasn't the one talking to him. It was Arkham. She breathed in deeply a few times, something that she's been frequently as of late, and returned to her office. She needed to forget about the session and the Joker, just for the time being. She found Schiff's file on her desk once more, and decided to give GCPD a call. She had almost forgotten about Schiff and his fiasco with Harvey Dent and the Batman. Surely, this would get her mind off of things. She glanced at the clock, and saw that she had a whole hour until she needed to get ready and head out to lunch with Red and her blind date. She picked up the receiver and dialed the police department's number.

**A/N: So I didn't lie this time! The Joker was in it! An actual face-to-face session! So was it good or what? I really hope I kept the Joker in character. He's a hard one to portray, that one is. **

**Yeah, I know folks. It took me forever to update. But I've had this written for awhile now, and all I needed to do was edit it. School has swamped me over the past couple of weeks. So much homework and papers and projects it's not even funny. But I have a four day weekend so yay me! Possibly chapter 7 up later on this week. :D**

**Cookies to whoever can guess who Harleen's secret date is. **

**Thanks to CodeNameRubicon for that awesome review. I'm glad you like my Harley, and I'm glad I kept the Joker in character. It is one of the hardest things to do, and I really don't want to butcher it. He's such a great character. **

**Thanks to kellemarine as well. Good to hear I'm doing such a good job with Harley. Makes me happy! And the Joker Blogs has been such an influence on this story. I really love those videos. Scott's my hero! But I am trying my best for this to be different. I love the JB's, but I don't want to rip them off. **

**So what did you guys think? Good? Bad? Hm, I always seem to write the same things here so just tell me your opinion. Leave a review, 'cause I love 'em. **


	7. Dilemmas

The café was crowded, but despite that fact, Harleen was still able to pick out Pam's flaming red hair. She sighed, and checked herself in her little compact mirror one more time. Even though she was not thrilled with the idea of meeting a complete stranger on a so-called 'date,' she still wanted to look her best. Her smile was forced, as if she didn't want to be here, which was exactly the case. Not showing up, though, would only result in feeling the wrath of Pamela Isley.

As Harleen approached the table, as if on instinct, Pam turned around and greeted her friend with an award-winning smile. She squeezed Harleen in a friendly hug, and turned around to introduce her to the two men at the table.

"Harley, this is Dr. Jason Woodrue," she told her best friend, pointing to the man on her right just as he stood up and stuck his hand out. Harley shook it with a smile. "Jason, meet my best friend, Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

Harleen was slightly surprised. Jason was not at all Pam's usual type. She usually went for the overly masculine, body builder types. Jason was more…well, for a lack of a better adjective, nerdy. He had short, neatly trimmed brown hair, with a pair of square glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. The only thing that made him looking masculine at all was the stubble growing on his broad chin.

"Ah, Dr. Woodrue," Harleen greeted with a smile, recognizing the name. This was Pam's boss, from the botanical laboratory that she worked in. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Now the attraction made sense. If it were socially acceptable to date a plant, Pam would do it.

"Likewise," he replied in a very surprisingly deep voice. She had to refrain from grinning.

Now the man next to him was a different story. He wasn't an overly tall man, under six feet, but still taller than herself. He had curly dark brown hair, and bright blue eyes. He smiled at her, and he had adorable dimples. Harleen liked him already.

_Here's to hoping this one's not gay, _she thought to herself, almost hopefully.

She flashed him smile in return, shaking his hand as well. Pam gave her a knowing look.

"Harley, this is Guy Kopski," Pam introduced them. "He's a med student at Gotham University."

"Well don't tell her that," Guy said, playfully glaring at her. "You're supposed to say that I'm some doctor from Gotham General, mentally preparing myself for a brain transplant that has never been attempted before."

"That certainly would be more impressive," Harley said, chuckling lightly and adjusting her glasses on her nose. "But I've been where you are, so no worries."

"Tell me, _Doctor_ Quinzel," he said, returning to his seat. "Is it worth it? All this training for the medical field, I mean?"

Harleen was thoughtful for a second. Was studying for six years at school _really_ worth it? A year ago, heck two months ago, she would have said no. But now, things were changing.

"Definitely," she answered with a smirk. "Not at first, mind you, but eventually you will find something to catch your interest."

Pam had been staring at the two, grinning all the while. She knew her best friend very well, and could tell when Harleen was attracted to someone.

"Tell them, Harley," the red-head began, taking a sip of her water. "Tell them about your new high-profile patient that Arkham stuck you with."

Harleen had to roll her eyes. She knew that Pam was trying to get her to brag. Whatever happened to liking someone for whom they were?

"I wouldn't say they _stuck_ me with him," she responded, opening up her menu and searching something good to eat. She was feeling in the mood for a salad. "But I am currently having sessions with the Joker. Just assisting, though, I don't actually talk to him. Not yet at least. Today was our first session."

"Yet?" Guy asked, catching that tiny yet important word.

"I have a feeling that Dr. Arkham won't be able to handle this patient any longer," she told the table matter-of-factly, feeling important. "He's only had two sessions with the guy, and he's already about to crack."

"And you think that you are qualified enough to handling him?" Jason asked skeptically. There was something that Harleen did not like about this man. He was certainly a lot darker than his friend Guy, and he doubted her talents. No, he underestimated her. She took it as a challenge.

"More qualified than Arkham," she replied stiffly, although she knew she was saying too much. It probably was not wise for her to berate her boss in public, even if it was true.

Before anyone could say anything else, Harleen's Blackberry went off in her purse, vibrating boisterously. Embarrassed, she reached down to hit the ignore button, but then saw it was from the police department. She excused herself briefly, earning a glare from Pam.

Earlier, Harleen had made plans to meet up with Commissioner Gordon after her lunch date, but he had just called to tell her that he needed to do it earlier. What he meant by earlier was right at that moment. She returned to the table.

"I'm sorry, Pam, Guy, Jason." She apologized directly to each person. "But I have a date with Commissioner Gordon involving one of my patients. You guys enjoy the rest of your lunches."

With one last look at Pam, who was glaring at Harleen even harder than before, she took off, stomach growling.

_Pity, _she thought to herself, frowning slightly. _Guy actually looked like he would be worth my time._

She was about to leave the restaurant, wondering if she would ever see the man again, when she felt somebody grab her shoulder lightly, stopping her. She turned around in surprise, which turned to amusement once she saw who it was.

"Before you go running off, Cinderella," Guy began, removing his arm from her shoulder and brushing his hair out of his face. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out again sometime, if that's what you would call this. Just the two of us. I've never trusted first impressions before, but I wanted to prove myself wrong this time. Now feel special, for I only do that for a few people."

Harleen couldn't help but let out a light chuckle. "I bet you say that to all the girls. I've always been a believer in fate. So if we're meant to go out again, it'll happen naturally. See you around."

She left him there, him looking amused and her grinning. She mostly told him that because she didn't want to be late for her meeting with the commissioner, and only a little bit to flirt with him.

Commissioner Gordon was found waiting patiently in the entrance to the Asylum just as Harleen entered the building. He rose out of his seat at her entrance, and immediately stuck out his hand for her to shake, which she did.

"Commissioner Gordon, it's great to finally meet you," she told him with a professional smile. Just because she was an intern did not mean that she couldn't act like a real doctor.

"Likewise, doctor," he told her, bowing his head slightly.

After getting clearance for Gordon at the front desk, she led him down the long dark hallways and up to the third floor where her office was, which she instantly regretted. Taking him to an interrogation room would have been better than her poor excuse of an office. Deciding it was too late, she gestured to the lone chair across from her 'desk.' He sat down and looked around the room uncomfortably. Embarrassed, she opened one of the file cabinets in search of Schiff's file. Gordon was the first to speak.

"You said you had a few questions for me, Ms. Quinzel," he asked. Harleen could tell that he was impatient. It was understandable, being the commissioner of the GCPD. "Regarding former Commissioner Loeb's funeral?"

Her lips curled up into a ruby-red bemused smile. _Straight to the point._

"Yes," she began and cleared her throat. "As you are well aware of, I am overseeing Thomas Schiff, one of the men the Joker had used in attempts to assassinate Mayor Garcia. Just the other day, I heard some disturbing news from him in concerns to that day. I was wondering if you had any idea."

He waited for her to continue, face not changing. When Harleen had made the appointment, she was afraid that the commissioner would intimidate her, not purposefully of course. She feared that she would be timid to ask anything. But at the moment, she was completely confident. Perhaps it was the professional atmosphere of the situation; her sitting behind her desk, albeit a tiny one, and him on the other side.

"Thomas informed me that he was taken, involuntarily, by Mr. Dent," she told him warily, knowing very well how outrageous she sounded. "And even threatened his life. I am just curious to know whether or not someone noticed something peculiar that day, such as this."

"There has been no reported case of this, Ms. Quinzel," he told her hurriedly, words flowing out smoothly, as if it had been rehearsed. Harleen was instantly suspicious. He caught on, even when she was doing her best not to sound accusatory. It was easy to see how, if this were true, damaging this could be to the Commissioner of the GCPD's reputation, but she was determined to get the truth. He continued speaking. "If there had been, the GCPD would have informed the public immediately. Mr. Dent was a very successful public official, God rest his soul, and it comes as no surprise that inmates at this facility would try to tarnish his reputation. Now, if that is all that you had to ask me, I must be going. There is much to do to recover from the Joker terrors."

Harleen was shocked and almost angered as she watched him begin to stand up and leave the room.

"Excuse me, Comissioner Gordon," she said, stopping the man in his tracks, the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. "But we like to refer to this institution's occupants as patients, not inmates. What he told me was the truth, I know it."

"I beg to disagree. He either told you a lie or what he thought was the truth. He is a paranoid schizophrenic. I wouldn't take what he said to heart, doctor."

"I thought of that as well," the blonde retorted, standing up and eying him suspiciously. "But this was at a point where he had progressed significantly. Please, if you know anything, it is best to tell me. It may be crucial to his recovery."

He looked as if he was debating something in his mind before answering.

"There is nothing left to say," he told her finally, and he turned and left.

Harleen remained standing and staring at the doorway for what felt like hours. She was so shocked that he had not answered truthfully and had dismissed her so easily. She sat down in a huff.

_What a complete and total waste of my time,_ she muttered to herself angrily. Although she knew that he had confirmed that something in fact had happened, even if she didn't know exactly what.

The Joker was eying her once more, a playful glint apparent in his dark eyes. The young woman did her best to avoid his stare. It seemed that he did everything in his power to make her uncomfortable, always making sure to draw the attention onto her. And even in their second week in, it was still working.

"Tell me, why a clown?" Dr. Arkham asked monotonously, not even giving the man his full attention. He had his camera set out and he was scribbling nonsense onto his own clipboard.

The Joker's eyes swiveled slowly from Harleen's to Arkham's.

"I'm no ordinary clown," he stated matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Hold on I think I have my card on me here somewhere…"

His voice trailed off as he began searching, limited to craning his neck and looking underneath the table. Harleen grinned slightly, amused. Arkham cleared his voice to get the Joker's attention again.

"Please answer the question, patient 6823."

"I'll tell you what." The psychopath adjusted himself in his seat, finding a more comfortable position, one closer to his doctor's face. "I'll answer all your questions as soon as you stop giving me those dumb little nicknames of yours. Hm?" 

He raised his eyebrows at him.

"Unless, of course-ah," he began, his attention switching once more from the male to the female. She watched, anxiously, as his eyes slowly went from Dr. Arkham to herself.

Shit.

"Legs came up with a few good ones," he told her, sending her an exaggerated wink. "I bet she'll be more creative than patien_t _6823 or John Boring."

Dr. Arkham sighed for what seemed the sixth time that session. He reached his hand across and shut the tape off, much to the Joker's amusement. He sort of wiggled his head side to side at the older man, mocking him.

"Thank you, patient 6823," Arkham told the patient with a forced smile, packing up his belongings and towing Harleen out of the room. "My office. Now."

Without saying a word, she followed the agitated man to his office. As soon as she had stepped into the room, Arkham had closed the door and turned around to face her. His face was contorted in deep thought, debating something silently in his own mind. Harleen did her best to keep her mouth shut for fear that he was going to take her off the case. Those worries were put to rest as soon as Arkham had opened his mouth once more.

"I want you to go in there alone," he told her bluntly. He had definitely learned to stop beating around the bush and sugar-coating situations.

The young woman was too stunned to speak, mouth slightly ajar. Perhaps her ears were deceiving her, for she could have sworn that he had just asked her to go in the little room, with only a one-way mirror and a table and chairs, no protection whatsoever, and actually talk to the evilest man in Gotham. Her, Harleen Quinzel, a mere intern at Arkham Asylum, a building that did not have the best reputation. He could not be serious.

"You must be joking," she said after a moment. She was shaking her head, refusing. "I can't…I can't…I won't. Do you know what a guy like that would do to me?" 

How could Arkham be so stupid? Letting an intern treat Gotham's most terrifying psychopath.

"I have thought this over in my head," he told her with a grimace, walking around and sitting on the edge of his desk. "But he seems more interested in talking to you than to me."

Harleen snorted. "I'm sure he's just doing that to get a rise out of you."

"Let's test that theory then," he said in a challenging tone. "One session with him. If it ends in disaster, you will never have to be in the same wing as him again, let alone the same room. If it ends in success…"

It was a tempting offer, but she wasn't stupid. She was an educated individual who graduated from Gotham University with her PhD.

"Absolutely not," the blonde told him firmly, anxiety apparent in her voice. "If you think that I will be able to handle this alone, then you belong in here just as much as any of these patients. You've been able to persuade me once before, but not this time. No. This conversation is over."

Knowing how unprofessional she sounded, she left the room, her heels clicking harshly on the tiled ground. This was the last thing that she had expected. The conversation from lunch last week with Pam and Guy flashed in her mind, and she remembered how confidently she stated how she would be taking over for Arkham soon. Mentally berating herself, she ran towards her office and sat down in her chair, running her fingers through her smooth blonde locks. He really should not have just sprung that on her, not so bluntly either. It was too soon. She'd only have a couple of sessions with the two, not nearly enough for her to confidently go in there on her own.

"But you turned down the opportunity of a lifetime," she whispered aloud to herself. "Imagine the fame, Quinzel. Your face in the newspaper, the reporters around you, perhaps you'd finally be invited to one of those fancy Gotham balls."

She snorted loudly at this point. What was she thinking? She hated all that fancy nonsense. She supposed it was just the idea of getting invited, the honor, the prestige of it all, that she wanted, not to actually go there.

Biting her lip hesitantly, she thought about the cons of the situation.

Talking face-to-face with the Joker.

Being in the same room as the Joker alone.

The possibility that the Joker would crawl into her mind and find all of her hidden secrets.

"Some doctor…"

Where was her sense of adventure? She was always the one in her family who had wanted to do great things with her life, and here she was chickening out over some guy wearing his mommy's make-up. The thought made her sick with disappointment.

_Sleep on it_, her brain told her. _Then let Arkham know tomorrow._

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she pulled out the Joker's file once more, the first time in awhile, and put down a little note next to his profile, smiling all the while.

_Talented at pissing Arkham off._

**A/N: Holy shiznit it's been awhile. Sorry folks, I know it went from me updating twice a week to twice a month, but cut me some slack. I'm a senior in high school. I have tons of crap going on. Buttttt, you'll be happy to hear, I am officially on spring break, so hopefully I'll be updating more and more often. **

**I know there was requests for more Joker, and he was in there, albeit for like a minute. But I promise that the next chapter will be 100% Joker filled. **

**In case you're all wondering, I based my Guy Kopski off of James Marsden. Because I absolutely love the guy. *Swoons* Dr. Woodrue is based off of…well my imagination. I couldn't think of anyone at the time when I wrote him. I wanted him to be kind of creepy, but still attractive. I was thinking a Dominic Monaghan. This picture of him caught my attention:**

**.**

**Creepy, right? Just imagine him with neatly trimmed hair and a pair of glasses. Boom, Jason Woodrue. **

**Special thanks to:**

**Keepyourselfalive. Thanks. I do trust you. **

**Megan. Bangin'! Sorry Chapter 7 wasn't chock-full of him, but he will be in the next chapter. I plan on having most of it a session with him. But it's good to hear that I'm doing a good job with him. **

**Keep the reviews coming guys! I really appreciate them. It makes me feel like a good writer. **


	8. Fed to the Shark

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harley. Or Batman. Or the Joker. Or Bartholomew. Or Arkham. Or Dr. Arkham. That's all DC's.**

"That's not an _alter ego_. It's who I _am_. Who I _was_. And who I always _will be_."

The taped rewound itself to the beginning.

"That's not an _alter ego_. It's who I _am_. Who I _was_. And who I always _will be_."

This time the screen froze, and the Joker's eyes bore into Harleen's, even through the television screen. His words still echoed in her head, despite the fact that the sound had stopped.

She was sitting on the floor with her knees curled up into her chest, mesmerized by the video she was watching. Her head tilted to the side slightly, eyes alight with intrigue. The Joker was the most interesting, dangerous, exciting man she had ever encountered, and it was impossible for her not to be fascinated. Like a sailor out at sea drawn to the call of a Siren, Harleen was drawn to the call of the Joker, the message that he was so desperately trying to send out to the world.

She chuckled suddenly, shaking her head and shutting the tape off. She must have watched the same video at least a hundred times. She could practically recite everything spoken by each person.

Her fingers met her eyes as she tried her best to rub the sleep out of them. She caught notice of the time, and knew she only had about a half hour till she needed to be at work. It was another Joker day, and Arkham had called her in early. Most likely to tempt her into taking the Joker case. A smile spread across her lips as she grabbed her keys and purse. She knew that Arkham would crack eventually. It was only a matter of time. When he asked her this time, now that the shock had disappeared, her answer would be different. She was certain that she was ready to take on the case. A quick glance in the mirror prevented her from leaving the building. She looked healthier today, despite the lack of sleep she had gotten the night before. This was mostly due to the fact that the large bruises that were on her neck had completely disappeared. She was free to wear a regular shirt, which was exactly what she did. A ruby-red smile stretching across her face, she felt confident enough to take on anything. Especially the Joker.

The clicking of heels on the floor signified the approach of Harleen. Her head was down, staring in concentration at her manila folder and Joker notes. A pen was neatly tucked behind her ear, and her glasses were perched on the edge of her nose.

"He's waiting for you inside, _doctor_," the policeman outside the interrogation room told her, saying the last word in a very patronizing tone.

She didn't have to look up to know that he was smirking at her. She simply pursed her lips and said, "Thank you." She was used to the moronic police by now, and didn't give him a second thought.

Harleen was a little annoyed that Arkham had not bothered to wait for her in his office. She had walked in there previously to find it empty, and assumed that he was already down here.

_That man really knows how to push my buttons,_ she thought to herself angrily.

"We-he-hell, lookie at what we've got here."

Harleen's head shot up to look at who had spoken. The Joker was sitting in his usual chair, in his usual straight jacket, with his usual bindings. He was looking up at her with a face of pure amusement, grinning at her as if she were some stripper here to give him a lap dance. Furrowing her eyebrows together in confusion, she looked around the room to see if Arkham was in there. He wasn't. She had assumed that when the guard had said, "He's in waiting for you inside," that he meant _Arkham, _not this psychopath.

_Perhaps I'm supposed to wait for him in here…_ she thought to herself, but upon further investigation, she found only one chair there, and it was right across from the Joker. Realization dawned upon her face, quickly followed by anger, and she didn't give a damn whether or not the Joker could tell.

"Look who the, er, _good_ doctors of Arkham fed to the sharks," the Joker began, the corners of his lips twitching. "Or should I say, _shark_?"

Oh she was seething at this point. Even his comment did not phase her.

"This is going to be…_funnnnnnn_." His voice rumbled on the last word, causing an unwanted shiver to course through her. This momentarily pulled her away from her mutinous thoughts towards Jeremiah Arkham. She looked down at him, and he was still smiling. She could practical see the gears working in his head.

As swiftly as the anger had come, she let it slowly drain out of her face so that she looked calm and tranquil. Something told her that losing her cool in front the Joker was not wise. She would get Arkham later, but for now, she had a patient to attend to. Gently, although with shaking hands, she placed her folder on the table and sat down in her chair. A camera was already set up and waiting to be activated. If Arkham had told her, she would've made sure to bring a voice recorder, not the video camera. But, since that was all she had, she reached across and pressed play anyway.

And then it sunk in. She was alone. With the Joker. Playing psychiatrist.

_Just don't let it show on your face and you're golden_. But even that thought was laughable; she could even feel her lips trembling with rage. Plus, all he had to do was look into her eyes and he would know. As she was thinking it, his dark brown eyes were plastered to her face.

"This is Doctor Harleen Quinzel interviewing patient 6823," she began in a falsely cool tone, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. "February 12."

She wasn't sure why she included the date; Arkham never did. Then again, she didn't want to be like him.

"Good morning, patient 6823," she told him, flashing him a small, professional smile. "How are you?"

Like she gave a damn about how he felt.

His look of amusement immediately disappeared and was replaced by annoyance.

"Ah, that's right," Harleen began, as if she were talking to a child. "You don't like to be referred to as that. What would you prefer?"

She was feeding him some rope; see how much of it he would take. He grinned, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

"You can call me anything you want, toots," he told her with an exaggerated wink. "Buttttt-a, if you want my personal opinion, Mr. Jay has a real nice ring to it. Perhaps if you said with a cockney accent, you would see it to, hehe. Heck, go crazy, why, why not a Queens accent?"

He was giggling in his seat now, clearly enjoying himself. He mouthed the words, making I appear as if he were saying "Mistah Jay." Harleen was watching him, waiting to see if he would glance up at her to see her reaction, like all the other patients would. But he never did. He wasn't behaving like this for her; he was doing it for himself. She quickly scribbled down the note on her clipboard, trying not to draw too much attention to herself. But she knew that no matter how tiny her movements were, he would notice them. In fact, the tinier they were, the more intriguing they were to him. It was like she was hiding something from him, and he had to know everything.

"So, Mr. Jay," Harleen began before he could do anything else. She actually planned on using his nickname. Mr. Jay was a name that made him appear more…human, as laughable as that sounded. She would accept the situation better with that name, as compared to the Joker. "Did you sleep well?"

"Super," he told her, not paying attention. He began scrunching his face as if he had an itch, but couldn't scratch, due to his straight jacket. "Wanna do a guy a favor?"

Harleen blinked.

When she didn't move, he pulled his head back, offended. He made a face as if to say, "Well, fine then."

"Did you dream?" she continued, shaking her head and hiding a smile.

"Of course I dreamed," he told her matter-of-factly, as if she were stupid. "Everybody dreams. The correct phrasing of the question should have been, 'Did you remember your dream?' And you're supposed to be the professional here."

The Joker pursed his lips and shook his head at her in disappointment. There was still a gleam in his eye, as if it were a trap he had just set up. She smirked despite her better sense of judgment. She quickly made a mark on her clipboard.

_Knowledge of psychology._

"But since you're so curious to know, I did indeed remember my dream," he continued, not allowing her the chance to speak. She was slightly grateful for that.

She thought about what she was going to say next. Asking, "Can you describe the dream to me?" would most likely result in me having to ask "Will you describe the dream to me?" Perhaps after that he'll ask for a please. He would trouble her with trivial things like that. She ended up going with a, "Please describe the dream for me." Sure it was more demanding, but it would show her dominance.

Mr. Jay was thoughtful for a moment, even proceeding to squint his eyes, as if trying to make out something in the distance. He suddenly shuddered, as if he saw something horrific. Harleen couldn't tell whether or not it was him being ridiculous her him trying to unnerve her. She was thinking it was more of the former than the latter.

"Well it all started off with me, lying on that cot in my er…" He paused, tilting his head slightly and smacking his lips lightly. "_Room,_ as you would put it. So I was lying on it, not a care in the world when I finally fell asleep. I was, uh, walking down this dark hallway, or alleyway, I dunno, something like that, when all of a sudden, I felt myself shrink till I was closer to the ground. Instead of walking I began…er…gliding? Sliding? Sliding. I was sliding on the ground. In the distance, there was a door, the _only_ door in the whole hallway. As I reach it, it opens."

He paused and looked at her curiously, to see if she was paying attention. She was. While her ears were open, her eyes were glued to his eyebrows. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with them. No, they were just so full of…expression. He used more facials than any other person Harleen had seen before. She nodded her head, indicating for him to continue.

"Cowering in the corner was some, er, _guy_," he explained.

"Were you aware of who the man was?" she interrupted, keeping her voice proficient. By now, all of her anger had seeped away, and her professionalism had returned.

"Errrrm," he was thoughtful again, sucking on his lips this time. "I dunno, _possibly_. He looked like he had a face that I had brought a knife to, once or twice. Then again, I've done that to hundreds of people, so who knows?"

If he was trying to scare her, it wasn't working. But Harleen didn't think that that was the case.

"As I was saying, toots." Harleen's mouth twitched at the nickname, but she allowed him to continue. "The man was cowering in the corner, shaking like m-m-mad." He began shaking his head, like a dog shaking off water. "Hehe, and it only got worse as I approached. I, I looked down at him and was so _annoyed_ of his quaking that I just had to….to…lash out at him. Once…twice…three times. His neck, his arm, his leg. Lash, lash LASH! Hehe…"

The look in his eyes was manic, and for the first time, Harleen actually believed that this man actually belonged here. His eyes were wide, and he was looking at her, but not seeing. His mouth was hanging open in a wide smile, and not because of his scars. His body was trembling with laughter. Now she was becoming disturbed, but not frightened away. If anything, it was bringing her closer.

"Finally, he stopped moving entirely," he said, his tone suddenly deadly serious. "I was soo-_oo_ thankful that he had stopped shaking."

The Joker's eyes bore into hers once more.

"And…then what happened?" she asked, leaning forward in her seat. It took her a moment to realize that she on the edge of her seat. Quickly and quietly, she slowly slid back.

"Annnnnnd, I woke up." He ended, anticlimactically, with a shrug of his shoulders. He looked over at her, and all of the intensity in it before had completely vanished. He was as calm and serene as he was the moment she stepped into the room.

"How were you feeling in your dream?" Harleen asked placidly, although on the inside she was startled.

His dark eyes swiveled towards hers mischievously, and the glint in his eyes were back.

"Thrilled."

Just as Harleen took a breath to respond to this disturbing statement, the door crashed open, causing her to jump and glare menacingly at the intruder. It was the guard outside.

"Quinzel, Dr. Arkham wishes to speak with you right now," he told her, avoiding eye contact with the Joker. It was as if Arkham had filled a balloon with helium just for Harleen, and was now slowing letting the air out.

Her jaw clenched. "Does Dr. Arkham not see that I am with a patient right now?" There was poison in her tone. "A patient that he so _kindly_ handed over to me?"

"Handed?" the Joker exclaimed, sounding offended. "What am I, the kid being tossed between two divorced parents?"

The other two ignored him.

"Yes, but he is ending your session for today," he informed her, nervously. It appeared that the Joker's presence startled him. "He needs to speak with you right away."

Exhaling out her nose and turning towards her patient, Harleen spoke. "I'm sorry that we have to cut this session short. But we will continue on Friday."

The Joker nodded his head, as if he understood, then looked back at her and smirked at her.

"Ya know, I really like you, Doc," he began, shifting again in his seat. "Unlike these other _moronic_ doctors around here, you know how to have fun." He paused briefly to smack his lips. "And boy, am I going to show you how to have _fun._"

He didn't even laugh when he said it. He said it so casually that it unnerved her, but she still didn't let it show. Instead, she sent him a small smile. Shutting off the camera and bringing it with her, she followed the policeman out of the room and did not look back. Arkham was waiting for her down the hall, leaning against one of the old, concrete walls. If he thought that her anger would have disappeared and be forgotten by the end of the session, he was dead wrong. As soon as her eyes met his they narrowed and she was glaring daggers at him.

"You son of a bitch," she mumbled at him, walking straight passed him and expecting him to follow.

"Now Harleen," he began, keeping close behind her. "You should know better than to speak to your boss like that, especially after he's just given you a promotion."

She whipped around at his words.

"Oh yes that's all nice and wonderful of you, thank you so much!" she exclaimed sarcastically. "It would have been nice to know that before you left me in a room alone with the fucking Joker!"

She charged down the hallway towards her office when she saw that he would not give a response. To her frustration and annoyance, his face was calm and a bit amused at the same time. He had obviously been expecting this and had mentally prepared himself. Harleen pulled the door open and slammed the camera and the Joker's file onto her desk, collapsing into her seat and rubbing her temples.

"Careful, that's property of the asylum," he scolded her, taking the seat across from her.

He had the nerve to chuckle after she shot him a look of death.

"You did very well today, Harleen," Arkham began, folding his hands in his lap smugly. "Your anger with me decreased the edge of the Joker. He could tell that you weren't afraid. He actually talked to you."

Harleen couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"You call that _talking_ to me?" She started laughing again, but it wasn't a happy laugh. It was a crazy and slightly deranged laugh. "He was trying to psych me out, just like he did with everybody else, telling me about his _dream_ about _murdering_ a man." She snorted.

"Well, you didn't let it phase you," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow slightly. "You did not react inappropriately at all. It was as if he had no affect on you."

"I just wasn't showing it," she growled at him, returning to her staring at him defiantly.

"Even so, all the other doctors would have run out screaming by now," he told her pointedly. He casually brushed a hand through his dirty blond locks. "And that's how I know you're the right woman for the job."

"You didn't run away screaming," she reminded him, not wanting to give up this battle. "And did you know, Jeremiah, that I was going to come to you today and accept the job? _Willingly_? But no, you went and took matters into your own hands-"

He held a hand up to cut her off. "I wanted to catch you off guard. I had already decided on this from the beginning, and knew the best way to help you with your nerves was to throw you in there without any preparations. If you had prepared, then you would have acknowledged the fact that you would be treating one of the most dangerous men in Gotham."

There was a silence between the two of them. She hated to admit it, but he was right. All of her anger kept her fear at bay, and she was too focused on trying not to be angry to let any of her fear show.

"So…this is it then, hm?" Harleen asked, closing her eyes and rubbing her right eye. "I'm the Joker's new psychiatrist?" 

Arkham bowed his head. "Ahm."

"And that makes me a _real_ doctor now, right?" She opened her left eye slightly.

"Yes, and speaking of which." He paused and reached into his lab coat pocket and handed her a small piece of plastic. Harleen took it gently and saw her new pass that would let her into most of the wards in the asylum. She smirked at the shiny piece of paper.

"He was actually responding to your questions," he continued, amusement in his voice. "Not switching topics to say, your personal life or family."

"Yes, but that's because he didn't know that I would be his doctor," she answered, not tearing her eyes off of her ID card.

"And now he will," he said, his voice turning serious. "He's going to prepare for you next time. He is going to get as much information on you as possible, which will be very difficult, considering you were only an intern before and the only patient of yours that is still here is Thomas Schiff, in a completely different wing as the Joker."

But before she could respond, the door to her office burst open. Both doctors stood up as the secretary from the front came into the room, looking very pale.

"Thank God I found you, Dr. Arkham," she shouted, looking only slightly relieved. "They told me you would be in here."

"What is it, Pearl?" he asked sternly. "What's happened?"

"It's…it's Thomas Schiff…" she began, her facing growing, if it was even possible, even paler. "He was attacked in his cell."

This alarmed Harleen. Her patient, Thomas Schiff?

"How is that possible?"

"Nobody knows…" she said her voice trailing off, looking embarrassed. "But it…er…it looks as if he were attacked by a…snake."

Harleen's heart stopped.

"Was he…was he injured in the neck…arm…and leg?" she asked, closing her eyes, as if knowing the answer already.

"Why…yes." Pearl sounded very startled. "How did you know?"

Harleen ignored her. She couldn't believe what she had just heard.

"Is he dead?"

Slowly, the secretary nodded her head, looking fearfully at Harleen, who was sure Pearl was wondering how the hell she knew all that. Harleen ignored her curious and worried glances to look instead at Arkham's. His face was white. He had been listening in during the Joker's session.

"Get the Joker back into that interrogation room…and call an ambulance," Arkham told Pearl in a shaky voice, who nodded, not quite understanding what was going on and dashed out of the room. "Well this changes a few things."

"I'll go get my notes-"

"No," Arkham cut her off, running a hand through his hair again, looking abashed. "The police are going to want to talk to him. And they're going to want to talk to the two of us as well."

"Because he told us what he did…" Harleen answered angrily. "He's already confessed. They're not going to let us keep him here, are they?"

"The odds are unlikely," he answered, pulling out his Blackberry and quickly texting somebody. "We'll have to be very convincing. _You'll_ have to be very convincing."

She was not all that surprised at this. She knew exactly why Arkham wanted to keep the Joker here; more donations would be made. People do not want another mass breakout with the Joker in the institution. She wanted to keep him there because he was…intriguing. Once she started, she couldn't just stop. It was going to be a hell of a job trying to convince the GCPD that the Joker's confession was just a very detailed dream. Harleen cursed quietly to herself. She was screwed.

**A/N: Hello my faithful fans! It is I, .SCRUMPTIOUS. I know it's been awhile. But since the last time I've posted, I've 1. Gone to Prom. 2. Went to Senior Banquet. 3. Graduated from high school. 4. Went to numerous graduation parties. 5. Had a dance recital. 6. Found out one of my best guy friends was gay and had to explain that to my other best friend who is a girl and who was in love with him. Yeah. Crazy past 2 months for me. **

**Special thanks to:**

YourMumReviewsMe **– Thanks! I'm really glad you found this story, too. Keep the reviews coming! :D**

seasidewriter1 **– Me too! I've been obsessed with the Dark Knight ever since I saw it in theaters. Perhaps even before it came into theaters. And here is more! I hope you liked it! :3**

Supergirl1987 **– Thanks for reviewing! And don't worry, more is comingggggg! Wooo!**

inkwell221 **– Winner of review that made me the happiest! I'm so glad you like it! ^_^ Thank you so much for the review. I will be updating more frequently, seeing as it is summer. **

**So tell me what you guys thought of this chapter. I've really had it finished for awhile, but kept changing and tweaking things until I just got it right. Well, more like till I got fed up with it and was like, "Screw it! I'm updating!" And voila! Here it is. I think this is the longest chapter I've written for this story (It's about 10 pages on MicroWord). A little treat for you guys for holding out on you. Please tell me about any improvements that need to be made. I am still an amateur writer, so your input always helps me. As long as it's constructive criticism, mind you. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pearl. Pearl belongs to the JokerBlogs and I just kidnapped her for this story. Just for a bit, I promise I'll bring her back. **


	9. First Encounter

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 9**

**First Encounter**

**~()~**

"A coincidence?"

Harleen resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the burly cop in front of her repeated himself for the umpteenth time. Keeping her features calm and taking a deep breath, she nodded her head.

"Yes, a coincidence," Harleen told him, adjusting her glasses on the tip of her nose. "It is not very likely that patient 6823 escaped his cell in the middle of the night just to murder patient 3859." 

The officer raised an irritated eyebrow at her, looking at her in disbelief. She was aware of how foolish she sounded, but she was not about to lose this patient. "Not very likely? Have you met this guy?"

Detective Bullock was not very appealing to the eye, although he could be, if he actually attempted to clean himself up. His shirt was not tucked into his pants at certain places, his tie was hanging loose around his neck, and it was obvious that he had not shaved his face in a few days. Or showered, for that matter. He was large, but in a muscular way. His thick New York accent did not do him any favors. Harleen was pleasantly surprised to see that he had not once hit on her or patronized her the whole half hour they had been locked up in the room together, although this did not excuse his appearance or his brutish behavior towards her.

"I am his psychiatrist and am aware of the extreme security that has been placed on him and the close scrutiny that he has been under," she answered him, irked.

"Ah but you've only been his doctor for a day," he pointed out, placing his hands on the table she was sitting at and leaning over to get a better look at her. He tiled his head to the side and stared her down, waiting for a response. Harleen stared back, her eyes slowly narrowing. She didn't want to disappoint him.

"Yes, but I was Dr. Arkham's assistant at the beginning of the Joker's incarceration, not to mention that I've also been here before the Joker's arrival," she began through gritted teeth. "I know all of the security measures that can possibly be given here. We are properly educated on the inner workings of this facility before we are sent out into the field, a technique that perhaps the Gotham City Police Department should keep in mind as well."

"Are you calling' me a bad a cop?" Bullock retorted, fists clenching against the metal table top and lips curling in like a wolf about to pounce.

Normally Harleen was very cooperative with the GCPD, for as often as they are here, one had to be. In this case, Bullock did not deserve any cooperation.

"No, not at all," she began slowly and calmly, making her face look as innocent as possible. "Just an uneducated and barbaric one."

"Argh! Jesus, woman!" he growled like a behemoth, throwing his hands in the air as if he were fed up. Harleen secretly hoped that he would keep coming at her; she could keep this up all day.

The door swung open, and Commissioner Gordon stepped into the room, frowning at Detective Bullock. Harleen leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms, knowing that she had won this argument.

"Detective, I can take over from here," Commissioner Gordon told him. It wasn't a suggestion, but a demand.

Bullock arched his back and tilted his head from side to side so that it cracked.

"Good, it's 'bout time," he muttered, grabbing his jacket and leaving the room. It was as if there had been no argument or struggle at all. "It's time for my lunch break."

Harleen shook her head in disgust as the door closed behind him. She was alone now with Commissioner Gordon, a man whom she respected more, but was still not pleased with.

"Hello again, Ms. Quinzel," he greeted her, smiling slightly. He sounded exhausted.

"Commissioner. Why on earth do you have men like that working in your force, Gordon?" she asked, turning her attention over to him.

"Because, Ms. Quinzel," he began, rubbing his temples. "He is a good detective. And I would prefer it if you would refer to me as Commissioner Gordon, thank you."

Harleen pursed her lips in annoyance. "I disagree, _Commissioner_ Gordon, but I have a feeling that this argument will not be going anywhere so let's return to the matter at hand. The Joker."

Without removing his hands from his temples, he said, "He's staying."

"Where else is he going to go-" Harleen stood up and began ranting, but upon hearing what he had said, she stopped and stared at him in disbelief. "He's…staying…?"

There was brief silence as the two made eye contact. Then Gordon sighed.

"Yes, he is staying," he repeated firmly, finally pulling his hands away from his aging face. "I will write a report about this, and make sure the mayor does not have him removed."

"You don't…_want_ him removed?" she asked in disbelief.

She was so worried that they would take away her patient, the one that caused her so much trouble. She was not willing to have him taken away so easily. She already had most of her responses and arguments planned out. The stress of this whole conundrum had been increasing inside of her, and she had fought so hard to not let it show. Finding that it was so easy to keep him there, she suddenly felt exhausted, and could hardly comprehend the rest of what Gordon was saying.

"What would be the point of moving him? So he can have an easier chance at escaping? I'd rather have him here than at Blackgate," he admitted truthfully, standing up and preparing to leave. Blackgate triggered a response out of her.

"You were thinking of taking him to Blackgate?" she cried out incredulously.

"I wasn't," he told her as he reached for the door handle. "But the mayor was, and so was the rest of Gotham."

"That's absurd," she answered, shaking her head. "He would kill twice as many prisoners there as he would here. And escape would be easy as well. He would look down upon the other criminals surrounding him…"

Harleen stopped as she realized that she was babbling as she was analyzing him.

"Exactly," he said, slightly annoyed and as if this were the last place he wanted to be.

"Commissioner," I yelled suddenly, stopping him in his tracks. Gordon looked down at the ground and sighed.

"Yes, Dr. Quinzel?"

"Don't think I've forgotten about our last conversation," she told him, tone very serious and eyes flashing. "I'm not quite through with you yet. I know you're not telling me everything, and I will get it out of you one way or another."

The silence that followed that statement was thick as the two continued to stare each other, neither one willing to back down first. Gordon was keeping his facial expression calm and unconcerned, but Harleen could tell that he was hiding something. She was a psychiatrist after all.

"Ms. Quinzel," he began, tone turning serious as well. "Why are you so interested in the matter?"

"Because, Commissioner, I know something is wrong. Something happened between Thomas Schift and Harvey Dent, and now both witnesses to the event are gone. If whatever happened there had something to do with my patient's death, I deserve to know."

Harleen's ruby red lips closed together firmly and her baby blue eyes narrowed at him, all in an attempts to look intimidating. She was aware of how unintimidating she normally was, but it would not be wise to underestimate her. She hoped that Gordon was getting the hint, but she couldn't tell through his expressions, or lack thereof. He continued to stare at her calmly.

"Good day, Ms. Quinzel," he finally replied, and left the room.

Even though Gordon had disappeared, Harleen had not moved. She was still looking intently at the spot at where he stood.

_Why won't he tell me what he knows?_ She thought to herself, annoyed. _Is it really that bad? _

She was dying to know the answer, and she would see her promise through. She would get it out of him eventually.

~()~

Harleen was sitting crossed legged on an old bean bag chair in her apartment, eating a bowl of ice cream and going over the Joker's file for the millionth time. The chair held special memories for her; her father gave it to her before she left for college. Most parents get their kids a lab top before they go to college, but not her dad. She didn't care how unorthodox it was; she loved it. It was red with black diamonds placed at random spots throughout it. He always liked to call her his 'fiery little diamond in the rough.' It suited her perfectly.

She was in 'bumming mode,' as she liked to call it; black yoga pants, Gotham University hoodie, and red fuzzy socks. Her hair was tied up in a loose, messy bun, and her glasses were perched on the edge of her nose, like they usually were. Her TV was blaring in front of her. She was only half listening to it, when something caught her attention.

"There was a big scare at Arkham Asylum today as one of the patients, Thomas Schift, notorious for helping the Joker during the attempted murder of Mayor Garcia just months ago, was found dead in his own room. Officials are not yet releasing the full story to the public. More details later at nine. In other news, a new club owned by Oswald Cobblepot called the Iceberg Lounge will be holding its grand opening-"

Harleen had enough of the news. As soon as she had stepped out of the asylum earlier that day, she was swarmed by news reporters and cameramen. Not being allowed to tell them anything, she had to run away with them as calmly and normally as possible. Dr. Arkham had given her the rest of the day off, which was one of the last things she wanted. She wanted to see her patient. She wanted to smack him in the face for doing what he did. She wanted to talk to Jonathon-

She mentally cursed at herself as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She brushed away the few straggling pieces of hair that had escaped her bun.

_Idiot,_ she thought to herself angrily. _You shouldn't be anywhere near that man, no matter how wonderful he was before. He's a criminal who tried to take over Gotham…and now he's locked up in his own asylum. _

Jonathon's face suddenly appeared in her mind. She had not thought about him in a long time. She could see the strands of brown hair that always fell in front of his face when it wasn't kept back, and his high cheek bones, and bright ice-blue eyes hidden behind his wiry glasses…

Harleen couldn't help but blush.

_Stupid, high school girl crush…_

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the dark, looming shadow resting on her newly opened window sill. A footstep on the creaky wooden floor brought her back to reality. The only light in the room was from a lamp next to her television, so the figure was drenched in darkness.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, rolling out of her bean bag chair and spilling ice cream all over the floor and her file. She immediately began searching her pockets for her phone. "I'm calling the police-"

"Don't bother," the man called out in a deep, gruff voice. He held her cell phone in his hand. She didn't have landline.

"Shit," she cursed again, looking around for the nearest makeshift weapon. The lamp next to the TV seemed to suffice, and she picked it up and held it above her head, ready to chuck it at him.

"Calm down Harleen," he said, surprising her. How did he know her name? "I just came here to talk."

"Who the fuck are you? How do you know my name?" she cried out, lamp still positioned in a threatening manner above her head. Her breathing was heavy as fear clung to her heart. This was the first time that someone had broken into her house before, and this guy obviously knew who she was. Harleen immediately assumed the worst; he was some creepy stalker who had been watching her for months and was finally making his move. But then, her inner psychiatrist kicked in. The dark stranger had yet to attack her; he had remained firmly planted in the shadow by her window. Her heart beat began to slow down as she began to relax, but she refused to lower her makeshift-weapon.

In response to her question, the man stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the lamp. Her voice became caught in her throat. It was the Batman. She was once again tempted to throw the lamp at him when she realized it was still plugged in. Unplugging it meant plunging the two of them into complete and total darkness. Gently and not taking her eyes off of him, she set the lamp down.

"You," she said quietly, watching him warily. "What on earth are you doing _here?_"

Of all the people to show up in her apartment, it was Batman. She had never seen him up close; then again, very few people had. His costume consisted of some sort of black body armor with a broney-gold belt wrapped around the torso. He had a long cape that flapped in the gentle breeze rolling in the room and a mask that concealed all of his face except for his eyes, mouth, and chin. His glare was cold and serious. She was thinking that he must have been through a lot when she realized how stupid that sounded; of course he's been through a lot, he's Batman!

"I came here to warn you," he told her abruptly, taking her off guard. "You have been curious about Thomas Schiff and Harvey Dent. I am asking you nicely to leave it alone."

"Uh…what?" she began, pausing to swallow and brush a hand through her bangs once more. Harleen was having a hard time taking it all in. Batman broke into her room to tell her to stop asking around about Schiff and Dent. Shiff…"Schiff…wait a minute, did _Gordon_ tell you this?"

And now it was starting to make sense. Gordon had told her her, and now she was getting scolded. By the Batman. Her anger flared up in her once more.

"No," she stated firmly, eyes flashing.

Apparently Batman had a short fuse as well. He walk straight up to her face and looked her straight in the eye, but Harleen did not back down, even if her hands were shaking out of fear.

"Leave it. Alone," he told her, baring his teeth slightly. "You do not need to worry about it. It is none of your business."

"None of my business?" she repeated, glaring at him in disbelief. "Thomas Schiff was my patient, and if something happened between him and Harvey Dent, it could have been affecting his behavior. I am his psychiatrist and I have a right to know."

"You are no longer his doctor Harleen," he reminded her. "Therefore, it is no longer your concern."

"What if it is information that could have prevented his death?" she asked him, staring desperately into his eyes. They were hazel. "He was my patient, I was in charge of him, and I just let him die. He was a human being, too, you know! Despite everything that he had done, he was still human!"

She was yelling at this point, and her eyes even began watering. Even she did not realize how upset she was about all of this. There was silence after her outburst, and his eyes seemed to soften. So he was human, too.

"Thomas Schiff's death was not your fault, Harleen," he told her, resting his large, masked hands on her shoulders. She did not expect him to touch her, not like that, at least. It was soft and comforting. Harleen was so confused. He continued, although a tad reluctantly. "Something did happen between Dent and Schiff, but it had nothing to do with his death. Let me worry about it."

"You?" she asked incredulously, shaking her head lightly. "Weren't you the one who killed Harvey Dent?"

His expression was pained as he closed his eyes for a moment before answering. "Yes. I can take it. I can hold these burdens. You need to trust me on this."

Something was wrong. Harleen could tell, but doubted that he would let her play psychiatrist with him. She wanted to protest more, she wanted to find out the secret. As she thought about it more, she felt it was more about Harvey Dent than Thomas Schiff. Dent had more to lose.

She decided to accept it.

"Ok," she told him, lowering her head so she stared at his rubber-clad feet. "I won't ask about it anymore."

She felt his arms slip away from her shoulders, and she looked back up at him only to see him already leaping through the window, without a goodbye or a thanks or anything. Harleen should not have expected anything less.

Harleen didn't know what to with herself for a full ten minutes. She sat and stared at the window, where Batman had entered her life for the first time, and most likely the last. Finally, her brain reunited with her body and she ran to find her cell phone so that she could call Pam. She needed a girl's night filled with chocolate and Nicholas Sparks movies. After searching her room, drawers and closet, it took her a moment to realize what happened to it.

"The fucking Batman stole my cell phone!"

**A/N: And ta-daaaa! Chapter 9 is finally here! I am so sorry, my lovely devoted fans, for making you wait so long. In case you didn't already know, I've been away at college for the past few months and it has been crazy. I was a biology major, which meant I had no life. It also sucked away a lot of my creative juices, so when I came back home for winter break, I wasn't in the mood to write. But I sucked it up and out came this chapter, which I quite enjoyed. We get to see Harvey Bullock, a cop I remembered from Batman: The Animated Series. If you haven't seen it, I suggest you go watch it. It is a phenomenal cartoon. **

**Sorry for no Joker…again. But I feel I should point out that this is mostly a Harley Quinn story, and not so much Joker. Not yet, at least. I promise there will be another session with him in the next chapter. **

**So your thoughts? It's probably not up to par since I've been out of the game for awhile, but I would still like your guys' feedback. **

**And thanks so much for the reviews so far. They have been great, and reading them is something that keeps me going. I will try to update as much as possible. Next semester, my schedule will be much easier, so hopefully I'll have more time for writing. Thanks again!**

**This. Is. SCRUMPTIOUS**


	10. Breakthroughs

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 10**

**Breakthroughs**

**I would like to thank alley1328 for sending me that nice message last month. I'm glad you like the story! And here's the chapter I promised you!**

**~()~**

Not having a phone, Harleen had to resort to using pay phones and the landlines provided in the asylum. Needless to say, she was not pleased. The money that she had been saving for a new apartment was now going towards a new phone. She sighed and closed the link on her computer that was displaying the latest in phone technology. A girl could dream.

It was about time for her first session with the Joker since the murder of Schift, which meant more police observation and intervention. She pulled a blond strand of hair away from her face and gathered her things. She left her office and headed in the direction of the maximum security wing where three police officers and an asylum guard were waiting for her. They seemed to be in a conversation that stopped at her arrival.

"The little nurse's clinic is on the other side of town, blondie," one of the cops said to her slyly, followed by a whistle from his two friends. "But if you're here volunteering, I'm all up for a sponge bath."

"I've got a lollipop for you at the end of this check up," the second cop chuckled.

Harleen grit her teeth and tried her best to ignore them. The amount of sexism and condescension that she has experienced in this field was ridiculous. She thought she was in the 21st century, not the 15th.

"Hey, show a little respect for Ms. Harley here," the asylum guard snapped at the three cops. It was one of the older guards that she recognized as always being kind to her. The nametag on his uniform read, 'Hugh.' She smiled at him, her expression full of gratitude. He nodded an understanding head at her, wrinkles visible in his dark skin, and opened up the door.

"Have fun princess!" the third officer called out, completely disregarding Hugh's previous comment.

She stopped in the door and yelled over her shoulder as the door closed, "Fuck off."

_Pigs._

And suddenly, it was like she was in a completely different world, as if Gotham had some sort of vortex that took her away from the horrible, dingy city, and into some deceivingly peaceful world that was equally if not more dangerous. The Joker was sitting in his usual spot across from her, except today he looked as if all the energy had been zapped away from him. His eyes swiveled up to her and she could see recognition in them. But he didn't act on it. The left corner of his mouth simply twitched into a half-smile.

"Mr. J?" Harleen asked curiously, taking a seat and clicking her pen open. When he didn't respond, she called out to him again. "Mr. J?"

She slowly took note of what was happening, even if she wasn't sure what it was. Apprehensively, she turned on the tape recorder.

"Ya know…" he said finally, his voice dull and lacking energy. "I like your name, Dr. Quinz_el_-ah." 

"Oh, and why's that?" she asked suspiciously, curious to see the direction he was going in. He smacked his lips together a few times before answering, his eye lids looking extremely heavy, like he would fall asleep any second now.

"Harleen Quinzel. If ya…ya take it and do a little, uh, remodeling with it," he began. "You get Harley Quinn."

"Like the clown character, harlequin," she answered, not very impressed. "I know, I've heard it before."

"It's a name that…" he paused for a second, as if he were gathering energy just to speak. "That puts a smile on my face." He forced the widest smile he could as if to prove his point.

"I see," I answered, adjusting my glasses. "I am assuming, from the looks of you, that the doctors have increased your medication."

"No, no, not increased," he answered, shaking his head dramatically. "They changed them."

"To what?" I asked, angered slightly by the fact that nobody had informed her of this. She had expected an increase in his dosage, not a change in the prescription.

He shrugged his shoulders and let them slump back down to their original position. He didn't seem to be paying me anymore attention, but staring at a mysterious brown stain on his uniform. I turned the tape recorder off, knowing that this would go nowhere.

"Thank you, Mr. J," I told him, keeping my anger at bay. "That will be all for today."

I stood up and walked out of the room, ignored the three policeman, and informed Hugh that he could escort the Joker back to his room. I kept walking all the way until I reached Jeremiah's office.

"What the hell Jeremiah?" I yelled, throwing the Joker's file onto his desk, the contents spilling everywhere.

"Please, keep your voice down, Ms. Quinzel," he told her, irked by what she had done. "And watch the language. I am trying to keep a professional business here."

"Professional?" I exclaimed with a laugh. "Professional would have been informing one of your doctors about changing their patient's prescriptions!"

"This is my asylum, I am allowed to change the prescriptions of my occupants," he told her, a dangerous glint in his eye. She disregarded it.

"But he is my fucking patient!" she screamed. This was the last straw with him. "How the hell am I supposed to talk to him when he is completely sedated like that! What the fuck were you-"

But she wasn't able to finish her thought as Jeremiah slammed his hands on his desk in anger, silencing her.

"God damn it Harleen!" he yelled at her, standing up and walking around his desk to face her. Harleen glared back defiantly. She had never seen him look this angry or intense before. Although she wouldn't let it show, it frightened her. "I am your boss! You will show me some respect! This is _my_ asylum, you are _my_ employee. I am the one who gave you this job in the first place! You think that you are so smart and so clever, and so rebellious, but you're not. You are just a small child trying so desperately to look like an adult. From now on, you will not be raising your voice at me nor cursing. Is that clear?"

You could cut a knife through the tension in the room. Slowly, Harleen nodded her head. She had to admit defeat, if she wanted to keep her job. Plus, he was right. He was her boss, as much as she hated to admit it, and she needed to start treating him as such.

"Good. Now return to work. I don't want to catch you in my office again, unless it's for a real emergency. No more complaining or bitching to me."

His words cut like a knife, but she obeyed. As he returned to his desk, she picked up the papers that she had so carelessly thrown down.

"Doctor…Dr. Arkham?" Harleen asked on her way out the door, trying to keep her cool. He didn't say anything, so she assumed it was safe to talk. "I'm sorry."

"And I appreciate that," he said, surprising her slightly. She didn't expect a response. "I understand that you are passionate for this field, Ms. Quinzel, but you need to realize how your attitude towards me is seen through the eyes of the other employees. If a young, inexperienced woman like you can talk to me like that, then why can't they? Just watch it, from now it. And don't lose that passion. It's the reason I hired you."

Harleen smiled, all of her anger being sucked away by his sudden kindness. "Absolutely, sir."

She walked back to her office, understanding that she and her boss had a breakthrough in their relationship. Her respected for the asylum owner increased.

When she reached her office, something wasn't right. Her door was open, and she had specifically remembered closing it. She couldn't find anybody else in the hallway to help her, so she pulled out the button Arkham had given her that summoned security and held it in her hand, finger hovering over the button. She was going to see if she could handle this herself.

_Why would anyone want to break into my office?_she asked herself curiously. _There's really nothing in there…just a couple of old case files…_

Harleen opened the door wider. There was a man leaning over her desk. Oddly enough, he didn't look like a robber. He was wearing a green sweater over a white dress shirt, and dark jeans. He wasn't even wearing a mask. I stepped further into the room, making sure my heels didn't make a noise on the concrete floor. Suddenly, he began to turn around.

"Hold it!" I yelled at him, holding the button in the air to show him. He put his hands up in alarm. "One press of this button, and security…is going…Guy?"

Guy smirked lightly, startled. "Uh, hey Harleen. I'm sorry, but is this a bad time?"

I began laughing, putting the button back into my pocket. "No, no, no, not at all. I just thought, hehe, that you were a burglar breaking into my office."

"Ah, I see," he said, chuckling and putting his hands down. "The secretary at the front desk, Pearl, I think, told me I could wait here while you were seeing a patient. I hope I'm not bothering you."

"No, you're fine," I told him, walking around to the other side of my desk and putting the Joker's file away. "What can I do for you today, Mr. Kopski?"

She sat in her chair, acting professional. He smiled. He had a really cute smile. She felt a small blush creep into her cheeks. She adjusted her glasses.

_Keep it cool Harley. _

"Well, at uh, lunch the other day…" He paused and began searching his pocket and pulled out a necklace. Her necklace. "You must've left this at the table…or it fell off…but I came here to return it to you."

"I've been missing that necklace for a few weeks, not a few days," I told him, raising an eyebrow. "Pam has had it and was too lazy to return it to me."

"Are you sure?" he began, pursing his lips and appearing to be lost in thought. "No, I'm pretty sure that you left it at the restaurant."

"Or Pam gave it to you so you could see me again."

Harleen was a strong, independent woman, and was more career oriented than relationship oriented at the moment, but having a man…having _him_ do something like that just to see her again made her feel good on the inside. The only men she had been interacting with for months were the patients in the asylum and her coworkers. It was a refreshing change.

They heard movement outside of the office. Harleen stuck her head out and saw a man, a security guard, walking away.

"Hello?" I called out. "Did you need something?"

He continued walking, not even acknowledging her.

_Wrong office._ she thought to herself, shrugging.

Harleen continued talking with Guy for another half hour. He was sitting on the edge of her desk, reminiscing about good times at Gotham University.

"Oh my god I had her!" Harleen exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth. "She was awful!"

"She doesn't teach you anything!" he agreed, laughing. "She just uses examples from the book-"

"Examples of problems that we weren't even tested on…" I shook my head, biting my lip.

"That we didn't even need to _know,_" he finished.

Then it got quiet, and the two just sat and smiled at each other. Harleen was about to say something when Guy beat her to it.

"Listen, Harleen," he began, confidently. "Would you like to go-"

Unfortunately he didn't get to finish what he was saying. A guard knocked on the door with news of the Joker. Despite the severity of the situation, he didn't appear to be worried at all.

"He cut his wrists, and is demanding to see you," he told Harleen nonchalantly, leaning casually against the door frame.

She stood up quickly and told him that she would be there immediately.

"I'm really sorry, but I need to go," she told Guy hurriedly, smiling apologetically.

"Oh no, I, I understand," he said, standing up to leave. "I am invading on your work time."

"Let me leave my phone number with you," she said, hoping to compensate with that. It wasn't until she was halfway to the Joker's room when she remembered that the Batman still had her phone.

**A/N: Hello my adoring fans! I am back, and have returned with a new chapter. Sorry it has taken so long for me to get this out, but as you know, I'm a freshman at college and have no life. But I am officially done for the year and have plenty of time to write more. **

**This was really fun to write. It jumps from three scenarios: Joker, Arkham, and Guy. What do you guys think about Guy? I find him personally adorable, and exactly what Harley needs right now. Let's hope things go well for them. **

**What did you guys think of this chapter? And who's ready for The Dark Knight Rises this summer?**


	11. Cleansing

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 11**

**Cleansing**

**~()~**

The Joker was waiting for Harleen in his cell this time, and not inside an office or interrogation room. He was sitting at the edge of his bed, arms bandaged and resting palm up on his knees. He stared at them, not saying a word until his doctor came to his aide. The door burst open, announcing her arrival, and she immediately took the seat next to him, as he expected.

"Uh, Dr. Quinzel," the guard began apprehensively. "He's not chained up or anything. Do you really want to be so close to him?"

The Joker smirked as Harleen looked up at the guard in surprise. "Hugh, he just slit his wrists. I don't think he's going to do anything to me right now. On top of that, he's heavily sedated with medication."

Hugh shrugged but stood in the doorway, not willing to leave her there alone with that psychopath.

"Well, it looks like the doctors have you bandaged up nicely," she began saying distractedly, quickly checking over each wrist. She brushed her hand over each one delicately, inspecting the work. Finding that they were both taken care of, she quickly pulled her hands onto her lap and looked at him sternly. She had just touched the same hands that had single-handedly murdered so many people. Innocent, unknowing people, and most serving only as a joke to him.

"Now, Mr. Jay, why exactly did you do this? I didn't peg you as someone who has suicidal tendencies. You take too much pride in your life. What's the reason behind this?"

He shrugged his shoulders sluggishly. "Felt like the thing to do."

Harleen looked at him skeptically, not believing a single word. "People don't just decide they want to kill themselves."

"Am I people?" he asked, smirking at her and tilting his head sideways. He sounded just as exhausted as he had previously. "Buuuuuut-ah, since you asked, yes, there is something that I wanted."

Harleen suddenly became weary. People that the Joker associated himself with ended up either dead or worse. "Oh, and what's that?"

He turned and looked her in the eyes, his own looking worn out and saggy. He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious?"

"If it were, would I be asking you?" the young doctor pointed out, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

He chuckled. "Don't be nervous, Harleeeey."

"I'm not ner-" she began to protest.

"Every time," he began but paused and sighed. "Every time you pull your hair behind your ear….it usually means you're nervous."

So he had been observing her, all this time, just as she had been observing him. She couldn't say that she was all that surprised, but it was definitely unnerving.

"Fair enough…" Harley said, admitting defeat. There really was no winning against this guy. "But I'm not very good at guessing games, and I do not have all day. So, Mr. Jay, what is it that you wanted, other than a death wish?"

She gave him her best smile of encouragement, but he could tell that it was fake.

"I wanted to see you, of course," he said, and suddenly, he seemed to be full of energy, as enthusiastic as he had been before the medication. "No tape recorder, no table between us, just me and y-o-u."

Harleen blushed. Was he…hitting on her? _No…he must just want some privacy for us._ She tried to rationalize what was going on…but this was the Joker, and that was nearly impossible.

"Wa-why?" I asked in a shaky voice. The normally cool Harleen Quinzel was slowly losing her steely exterior with this psychopath. The worst part was, he had yet to do anything really…dangerous to her. It was just his reputation….no, not his reputation. It was his presence that made her lose her nerve. "Is um….there something you wanted to tell me, something you didn't want anybody else to hear?"

"No, my dear little Harley Quinn," he said, and he reached out with a bandaged arm and brushed his hand across her cheek. It lingered for a few long seconds, and was then brought back down to his lap. Harleen froze. Not only did he touch her…he caressed her. He didn't try to choke her or anything, just a gentle touch. Instantly, her inner psychologist began searching for some hidden meaning behind the action. Why would he touch her? What would he get out of it? Or maybe…was it just for the fun of it?

She jumped out of her seat and began stumbling away from him. The small action had terrified the wits out of her.

"Mr. Jay that…" she paused as she landed in the corner of the room. Hugh caught hold of her and attempted to drag her out of the room. "Mr. Jay that was highly inappropriate."

She could not hide the burning red sensation that was coming from her cheeks.

"What's also inappropriate, Harley," he began, previous exhaustion returning to him, but with the same intensity blaring in his eyes. "Is bringing certain male…_interests_ into an asylum such as this."

He wiggled her eyebrows at her not in a flirting manner, but in a challenging one. Harleen's eyes widened as she realized that he was talking about Guy. How had he known? 

"Word travels fast in an asylum like this, tootes," he informed her as if reading her thoughts, winking. "And you know what?"

He paused, whether to be dramatic or suspenseful or just plain annoying.

"I don't. Like. Sharing." He over enunciated every syllable possible and it sent chills up and down her spine. Harleen cringed but did not look away from his face. So many emotions were rolling over her face like a sea during a storm. She was terrified, she was curious, she was worried, but worst of all…she was exhilarated. Hugh pulled her out of the room just as the Joker's spine-tingling laugh began to echo throughout the hallway.

The water came pouring down, as if from heaven, cleansing her of that awful man. He had dared to touch her with his filthy, sinful hands, the nerve to reach across the table that served as an implied barrier between them and brush his contemptible skin against her own. Balling up the sudsy wash cloth in her hands, Harleen closed her eyes and shoved the rag into her face in hopes that it would wash her memory of earlier that day away.

Breathing deeply and pulling the rag away from her face, Harleen noticed a large soap bubble had formed on her hand. She stared at it, noting the way it quivered in the presence of even the slightest breeze. The Joker's image burned into her mind once more, and she couldn't help but remember what had happened…and also the details that only she would know.

His hands were rough and calloused, and permanently stained black splotches were visible, marring the pinkish-yellow color that was the rest of his skin. It smelled like fireworks, gunpowder, gasoline, and death. She placed a hand upon her own cheek, in the same spot where his had been only hours before. She recalled how gentle he had been, how unthreatening it was. Just a simple gesture to…

_To what, Harley?_ She thought to herself angrily, and she pounded a fist onto the tiled wall of the ancient shower. A piece broke off and fell to the floor, completely ignored by the only occupant in the room. _To show that he actually has feelings? And for you? _

What a joke that was.

Harleen slowly lowered herself to the floor, her back against the grimy wall of the shower, small giggles escaping her lips. The giggles grew into laughs, the volume and intensity of it causing her eyes to bulge. She was laughing to the point where she couldn't breathe anymore…and she didn't even understand why.

And that was when she knew she couldn't be his doctor anymore. He was changing her. Like clay, he was forming and molding her into something in his eyes, in his design.

Suddenly, she heard a ringing noise.

_Someone's phone_…she muttered to herself, but then she recognized the ring tone. Her head shot up and, almost forgetting a towel and leaving the water running, she ran out of the bathroom and found her cell phone resting on the window sill. Quickly, she grabbed it and answered it.

"Hello? Hello?" she answered quickly, desperate for some form of communication.

"Ah, there you are Dr. Quinzel." It was Dr. Arkham's voice, pompous as ever. "I had been calling you for an hour. Did your phone die?"

"No, I uh, misplaced it," she answered quickly, which wasn't exactly a lie. "What's the matter doctor? Do you need me to come to the asylum?"

She tried to keep her voice calm, making up for the shouting match the two had the other day. 

"No, that won't be necessary. I actually have some news for you," he began slowly, and even though he never specified, I could tell it was bad news. "I, along with the other doctors, have decided to reassign you to another patient."

Harleen was stunned.

"As in, I will no longer be the Joker's psychiatrist?" she asked quietly, just to make sure. She already knew the answer to that.

"Yes," he answered, sounding distracted. There was a rustling of papers heard behind his voice. "We will be giving you a new patient, starting tomorrow."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened today?" she asked, gripping the end of her shirt in anticipation.

"Professionally speaking, it is because I should have a more experienced doctor examining him," he told her, but she could tell this wasn't the case. "But honestly, yes it does. I knew that this or something similar to this would inevitably happen; not with you, necessarily, but with some other doctor or nurse. The Joker is just too wild and out of control. I know that you are going to fight me on this, Dr. Quinzel, but I know this has affected you in some way and I feel that it would be dangerous for the two of you to continue your sessions."

"Dr. Arkham, I completely understand and believe me, I will not be fighting you on this," she informed him, and the relief she was feeling was evident in her voice. "I was having similar feelings to this. I am not sure how I would be able to face him again after something like that."

"…really?" he asked her skeptically. "I know you are trying to make up for your previous behavior, Dr. Quinzel, but you do not have to be completely submissive to me."

"No, no, that's not it," Harleen began, chuckling lightly. "I was actually going to call you myself and ask for a different patient, but you beat me to it."

"Well, that is good timing, I suppose." He still did not sound thoroughly convinced, but he was going to let it go. Why bother arguing when he was getting exactly what he wanted. "I guess I will see you at work then, and explain the details on your new assignment."

"Dr. Arkham, may I ask who my new patient will be?"

She was curious to know. Who else was there? Who would be interesting enough to keep her attention after the Joker? Hopefully someone in a completely different wing.

"Jonathon Crane."

There was silence on the end of the phone.

"Dr. Quinzel? Are you still there?"

She was going to see Jonathon again. But was this a good thing or a bad thing?

"Y-yes, I'm still here…doctor," she answered, trying to regain her composure. "I will see you at the asylum tomorrow."

"Alright, have a good night."

Harleen hung up her phone and finally let the news sink into her. She went weak in the knees and the butterflies in her tummy had returned. For the longest time, Harleen had a crush on Dr. Jonathon Crane. He was young, attractive, successful, everything a young girl like her could ever want in a man. Unfortunately what went a long with that was a large ego, a sense of being better than the others around him, and the fact that he was working with the mob and tried to take over the city with a hallucinogenic compound that he himself had created. That definitely put a damper on some of her fantasies. But she had always hoped that one day she would be his doctor and that she could help him, maybe even cure him, if that were possible. She knew how much of a child she sounded like, and she mostly kept these dreams to herself. Pam was aware of her crush on her superior, but she never filled her in on these details.

_You need to be calm, cool and collected when you see him, Harles_, she told herself in her head as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Unfortunately the excitement and anticipation wouldn't go away.

Her phone went off again, telling her that she had a voicemail. She looked and saw that she had over 20 voicemails and 50 or so text messages. A majority of them were from Pam, some from her parents, and a few from a number that she didn't recognize. She knew that if she didn't call Pam back immediately, she was going to murder her personally, so she decided to make that her number one priority for the moment. She quickly dialed the number and prepared for the bombardment of questions from her best friend.

**A/N:** **Another glorious chapter has been posted, my dearest fans! I apologize once more for the long wait, but a college student's life is never done…or ever at rest. There's always something to do. But I am at home, on summer break, and going to be bored out of my mind, which means more CHAPTERS! Woohoo! Aw yeah! **

**So anyways, what did you guys think? So many plot twists, and different directions I chose to go in this time. And looking at this, I realize I may have too many love interests for Harley, even though we all know who she is going to end up with. The Joker, who she is currently terrified, yet still intrigued, by. Eventually he will capture her heart…or perhaps her sanity would be a better choice of words. Guy will probably be a possible relationship for her, if he ever gets the chance. I like Guy, though I think he's cute, and in my head he's James Marsden and that man is a FOX. And then there's Jonathon…I don't think I'm going to go anywhere with him, not really at least. Just an old flame that never really was a flame to begin with…but we'll see. You never know. But as a curious author…who do you think Harley would be cutest with? Not the best with, but the cutest with? Joker, Jonathon, or Guy? Lemme know please! Thanks!**

**And just your overall thoughts on the chapter would be appreciated. I reread the last chapter and wasn't impressed with my writing. Granted, it had been awhile since I was in the writing swing, but still. I will most likely at some point go back and edit it some more. Won't change anything. Just spruce it up a bit. Anyways, this chapter. What did you think? I think the writing is better in this one, along with the emotion. **

**Hope you guys enjoyed it! Stay tuned for the next chapter!**


	12. Gassed Without the Chemical

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 12**

**Gassed Without the Chemical**

**~()~**

**Big shout out to ****LibertyForFreedom455**** for sending me that awesome review! She is really the one who got me to finish this chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it!**

The door was right in front of her, sitting innocently, as if all that was hiding behind it was a broom closet. But Harleen knew all too well that the door was hiding something much more dangerous. Some_one_, more dangerous. The white paint on the door was chipping, and the orange-rusted metal lying beneath it was exposed in a few areas. She lifted the hatch on the door to get a peak at the room's only occupant. Jonathon Crane was sitting on a chair in the back of the room, facing away from the wall. He was busily writing something down, and hadn't yet noticed her intrusion. She lifted out his file from underneath her arm and looked it over for the hundredth time.

_Possible dissociative identity disorder- often refers to himself as the scarecrow_

_Often talks to himself_

_Does not like company, prefers to be left alone_

_Reacts violently when he feels like he is being ordered around_

_No straight jacket – on probation _

_Refuses to take any sort of medication _

_Prefers to be referred to as 'Scarecrow'_

As the list continued on to reveal the medication he was under, she closed the file and closed her eyes. Jonathon had changed so much in the past few years. He had never shown any sort of emotion other than contempt before. Most of the time he was just expressionless, always appearing calm and collected. Nowadays he was just the opposite; full of emotion, ranting on and on about how he was the 'Master of Fear,' or the 'King of Phobias.' He really did belong in this asylum. Luckily for her, he was composed at the moment, perhaps heavily sedated. Judging by the way he was actively writing in his corner, he was Jonathon now and not the Scarecrow.

Harleen opened the door to his room. Unlike the sessions with the Joker, she was going to have her sessions with Jonathon in his own room. That's how sessions were normally conducted; no guards, no tables, and no cops.

The strange thing was, she did not feel nervous. The only thing occupying her thoughts at the moment was Mr. Jay. The two patients she had been allowed to have thus far were quite different in many ways, but in others, very similar. Jonathon had a character that demonstrated his higher intellect, while Mr. Jay was a wild animal; doing what he wanted when he wanted and not caring about who got hurt (in most cases killed) in the process. But they were both criminals, greatly superior in comparison to others, and both had done very evil things. Harleen knew what she would be getting herself into when she applied for the internship at Arkham, but she never realized it would happen so soon.

"Ms. Quinzel, this is most irregular," Jonathon said suddenly, startling Harleen slightly. He turned around and she could detect the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips and a glint in his crystal blue eyes. "One could recognize the sound of your heels anywhere, Ms. Quinzel, let alone on an old asylum with cheap linoleum floors."

She mentally cursed herself for choosing the heels. She should have gone for the flats but no, she wanted to look 'assertive.' She cleared her voice uncomfortably. "I suppose you know why I am here, then, Jonathon."

He sneered, his eyes suddenly losing their playful glint and growing cold. He looked so unkempt; he was always the type of person who always made sure there was never a hair out of place on him. His hair was greasy and disheveled, his clothes was covered in stains, and he looked sickly thin.

"I would prefer it if you referred to me as Dr. Crane," he began, slowly turning around and continuing his writing. "And yes, I am aware. Although, I am thoroughly surprised that they chose _you_ as my latest doctor, if one could call you that. And so soon, too. I wasn't quite done with the last one."

His tone was very condescending, almost challenging. Harleen became tense and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You discovered Dr. McClure's irrational fear, and then used it against him," she told him, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "I think you've done enough."

"Ah, Coulrophobia," he said, as if relishing the memory. "All it took was a little paint, a little blood…and he was mine."

Harleen pulled out her tape recorder and placed it beside her. She hit the record button, trying her best to ignore his last statement.

"So, Jonathon, how are you feeling today?" she asked, deciding this would be the best direction to go in. She needed to keep talking, keep doing _something._ If not, she would find herself staring at the man and he would catch on quickly, if hadn't already. Or her mind would wander to other patients….

"Spectacular," he told her, voice dripping with sarcasm. He had yet to give her his undivided attention since she walked into the room. And then suddenly he did. "Why, may I ask, are you with me and not your _other_ patient, Ms. Quinzel? Was the pretty and headstrong young doctor not able to handle the clown?"

Even though he wasn't looking at her, she knew he was smirking. She could hear it in his voice. Harleen sighed. He never missed an opportunity to treat her coldly and make her look bad.

"Or did you simply give up, just as you did with the altercation between Thomas Schiff and Harvey Dent."

That got her attention. How had he known about that? Did he really have such connections within the asylum? Of course he did; he was the asylum's previous proprietor. He would know every nook and cranny of this place, all of its secrets, everything. She sat up a little straighter.

"What do you know of Schiff and Dent?" she asked him, curiosity getting the better of her. She knew she had promised Batman that she would stop digging into this mystery, but she couldn't help herself. Crane had set a trap and she had willingly sprung it.

He shrugged his shoulders innocently, and as he turned around to face her, she noticed that the playful look was back in his eyes. He was going to play with her and toy with her, Harleen knew that very well. He had information that she didn't know but desperately wanted to uncover.

"Not much," he teased, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them off as if he didn't have a care in the world. Harleen clenched the file in her hands, growing frustrated in her attempts to maintain her cool. If she fed his ego some more, he would eventually tell her what she wanted to know.

"Clearly, Dr. Crane," she began, remembering to use his preferred name. He took notice. "Your sources are far better than mine, along with your methods of ….persuasion. If you could enlighten me in any way possible, you would have my undying gratitude."

She stared at him, trying to look as innocent as possible. In most situations similar to this, she would have tried to use her 'feminine assets' to influence him into telling her, but she knew that wouldn't work on him. He wasn't interested in such things, a fact that had greatly depressed Harleen when she had first discovered it. He sneered at her again, but it was obvious that she had hit the right note with him.

"You flatter me so, Ms. Quinzel," he said, replacing his glasses on his face. He folded his hands together on the back of his chair and began staring her down. "I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal." She raised an eyebrow at that. There was no way this would turn out well. "I will tell you everything your heart desires _if_….you were to help me with a little experiment."

She raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. She did not like the sound of that, especially after recalling his last 'experiment' on Gotham City.

"You can relax," he told her, eyes flashing at her fear, a smirk on his lips. "The asylum and the police destroyed my entire supply. What I want you to do is more….dangerous."

If he was trying to comfort her, it wasn't working. "I will not make a deal with one of my patients. Especially with you, Dr. Crane. Or has Scarecrow made an appearance now?"

He smirked again, ignoring her question. "Kiss me."

Harleen's eyes widened in shock. There was no possible way that he was interested in her; it had to be a trick. What was he up to? A ploy or not, her heart did skip a beat and a nervous sensation surged through her body. "Dr. Crane, that is highly inappropriate and I will do no such thing." She found herself saying that a lot lately.

She pulled a strand of hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses on her face. She could not prevent the reddening of her cheeks, unfortunately. So it appeared as if he did know her feelings for him, judging by his triumphant smirk on his face, and he was using it against her, the bastard. She knew she shouldn't have felt as hurt or surprised as she did, but she couldn't help it. She had been practically in love with the man ever since she got her internship. He now had two things against her, both that she desperately wanted. But what was he going to get out of it? The satisfaction of winning? Of being better than her? It was never that simple with him. But still, she would be getting what she wanted.

He could get anything he wanted from her, even without using his famous gas.

"And…what would _you _get out of this arrangement, doctor?"

"That is something you need not worry about, doctor." He continued to stare at her. He wasn't menacing, but he wasn't trying to be soft with her either.

Harleen blinked and reached out with her hand to shut off the tape recorder. She could get in a significant amount of trouble for this, but then again, worse dealings have occurred at this asylum. She bit her lip nervously, not quite knowing what she was doing.

"Alright Jonathon," she began, taking a deep breath. "You tell me everything you know, and I will do as you say." She knew she was being stupid, and there were a billion scenarios of the different ways he could kill her were flashing through her head, but she knew he wouldn't kill her. That wasn't his style. At least, not _Jonathon's_ style.

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. He just looked at her not moving a muscle. Of course, she was expected to go to him. Glaring at him, she stood up and walked over to him. He didn't even have the common courtesy to stand up for her, or caress her cheek or anything, much different from the fantasies she had in the past. Harleen knelt down so that she was eye-level with him, and began to lean in closer to his face. His face was completely expressionless, making the situation even more awkward than it already was. Just as she began closing her eyes, she felt his hand on her cheek. But it wasn't a soft loving touch; it was rough. Her eyes pried open and she stared fearfully into his cold eyes. He was sneering at her, looking at her as if she was the moth pathetic thing he had ever seen.

"And they want _you_ to be my successor? Pathetic," he insulted her, throwing her face away from him and returning to his writing. "I suggest you gain better control of your emotions, Ms. Quinzel, and learn _not_ to trust anybody in this facility. A lesson I learned a long time ago. I could see the hope in your eyes, the desperation. Pathetic."

Harleen's ego was badly injured, and as a result she remained on the floor, staring at him clenched hands on the old tiled ground. She knew it had been too good to be true. And in that one moment, whatever feelings she had left for him, whatever faith she had in him, had disappeared entirely. Her schoolgirl crush was over; it was time for her to enter the real world.

"That's enough for today, Dr. Crane," she told him stiffly, standing up and smoothing out her skirt. She grabbed her tape recorder and left his room.

"Goodbye, Dr. Quinzel…" he muttered, not paying attention.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she returned to her office.

Harleen was walking back to her car. It was late evening, and she had just finished her day at Arkham. She was a bit of an emotional wreck; Jonathon had shaken her, and insulted her. She was angry with him, but even more so angry at herself for falling for it. She should've known that he would do something like that. She spent most of the day trying to avoid any other patients or doctors by locking herself up in her tiny office, convincing everyone that she was just doing paperwork. She didn't even take her lunch break.

She angrily pulled her keys out of her purse, and her mind wandered to her other patient. She wondered who was seeing him now. Most likely Dr. Arkham. Or perhaps Dr. Leland. She wasn't sure why she cared so much, seeing as it was partially her decision to leave Mr. Jay in the first place. She shook her head and sighed just as she reached her old clunker of a car.

"Excuse me, miss?" she heard a man say from behind her. He sounded very close, and cursed herself for not being more cautious, especially at this time of night. She quietly took her keys and placed some between her fingers, just in case and slowly turned around. But even if she had wanted to use them, she was too slow. A hand went over her eyes and a rag covered her mouth. She panicked as she recognized the chemical slowly being wafted into her body. She was terrified, and blindly struggled as much as she possibly could; but the man and the chemical were too much for her. Attempts at screaming and fighting back were all futile, and soon everything went black.

**A/N: Greetings readers! I apologize for the wait…but I had a bit of a writer's block, and I was also distracted by my other fandoms. Had just got into The Avengers (I know, what a betrayal to DC! But it was soooo gooood!) and Once Upon a Time. But then the new Batman came out and of course I had to update. Tell me what you think of this chapter!**

Oh, and sorry for the cliffy. I noticed I hadn't put one in here yet, so it was a necessary evil. 

**What did you guys think of TDKR? Personally, I thought TDK was a lot better. For me, TDKR wasn't a Batman movie. It was a fantastic movie, as a movie, but as a Batman movie, it was lacking a lot for me. It was like…you could've taken Batman out and replaced him with any other action hero and it wouldn't be any different. Plus there were a lot of plot holes that I wasn't a fan of. And I thought they could've done a lot more with Catwoman than they did. **

**I'm a bit of a movie critic…which is why my family hates taking me to the movies. Heh. But anyways, what were your guys' thoughts?**


	13. Fold

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 13**

**Fold**

**~()~**

Slowly, Harleen's eyes flitted open, but she couldn't see anything; everything was blurry. All she could see around her were blobs that were supposed to be people. There were four blobs in the room. A few strands of light could be seen, but they were filtering down at an angle, as if the windows were high up. She knew she had to be in some sort of warehouse. It was cold and very dusty. In the corner she could see some different sort of light source. Judging by the smell of burning wood, it was a fireplace or fire pit. She moved her head to get a better look, but regretted it as a wave of pain shot through her head. It was like waking up to the world's worst hangover. She moaned and closed her eyes, trying to relax as she felt bile rising to her throat. And to make matters worse, her hands and feet had been tied to a chair.

"Hey man, the bitch is waking up," she heard a man say, but his voice was a little distorted.

"About fucking time," she heard a second man mumble. "Get her up faster. The boss said he wanted a word with her as soon as she was awake." 

"What do you want me to do? Dump water on her? Bang pots and pans?"

Harleen inwardly prayed that he wouldn't do either of those. She moaned again, and her eyes watering from all of the pain. She needed them to be quiet.

"No, I've got a better idea," a third voice said.

She didn't like the sound of that; he sounded devious, and she forced her eyes open one more time. The blurriness had gotten better, but not by much. She saw one of the men walking over to the fire and then walk over to her. There was something in his hands this time, some sort of stick that had an orange tip, and Harleen's eyes became wide out of fear. What did he have in his hands? A fire poker? She whimpered and dropped her head in hopelessness. There was no way for her to fight back; she was tied to her chair and too weak to struggle. And suddenly, there was a blinding pain on her left arm. Her head shot up and she screamed as loud as she possibly could. It was the worst burning sensation she had ever felt. It shocked her out of her weakness, and she could see again. She looked down at her arm, ignoring the headache. The man had a branding stick pressed up against her arm. She looked away as she became nauseous once more. He pulled the stick away, but the pain was still there. Her throat hurt from screaming so loud.

"Fuckers!" she screamed, the fire back in her eyes. "Who the hell are you?! What do you want?!"

She could see the men clearly now, but this time there were five in the room. Four looked like your average thugs; skuzzy, dressed in all black, guns in their jacket pockets; but the fourth was obviously the boss. He was wearing a nice suite, expensive watch, and he was the one holding the stick. His eyes were looking down at her, and a smirk was playing on his lips as he twirled the stick in his hand.

"Language, doctor," he told her in a silky smooth voice. "I was told that you were a fiery one."

"Then you should've known that kidnapping me would have been a bad idea," she growled at him, blowing her hair out of her face. This only made him smile more. He had an almost frightening smile; it was very wide, and you could see every tooth in his mouth. She struggled at her bondages, but they were too tight. There was no way she was getting out of them.

"Struggle all you want doctor," he continued, pulling up a folding chair in front of her and sitting in it, backwards, stick remaining in his hand, just threatening her to do something else. She looked down at her arm again and saw that he had branded a diamond onto her arm. She instantly knew who this guy was.

"So you're Vegas, huh?" she asked, baring her teeth at him. "So what have I done to earn your attention? What do you want with me?"

She had only seen the mob boss a few times on the news, but she knew he was small time compared to some of the others. But now that all of his competition was gone, he must have been in charge of everything.

"Straight to the point I see," he said, nodding his head. He twirled the branding stick again. "Shame, really. What if I wanted to play with you a little bit more?"

He slowly brought the tip of the stick close to her arms, but not quite touching. It had cooled down some, but she could still feel the heat radiating off of it. She watched it out of the corner of her eyes wearily.

"But if that's what the lady desires," he began, returning the stick to his side as he grinned in triumph. His thugs were watching them as if they were some sort of performance just for them. "So, Dr. Quinzel, you're a psychologist at-"

"Psychiatrist," she spat at him. She hated when people got them mixed up. He held his arms up in apology.

"I apologize. Psychiatrist, then," he apologized. "At Arkham. Now I believe it's safe to assume that you know what I do for a living, and you know that business has been…poor, ever since Batman's…interference."

Harleen snorted. He narrowed his eyes at the interruption, but continued his little speech.

"And to make matters worse, a certain…clown, reared its ugly head in our town."

Her heart stopped. That's why they wanted her. They wanted the Joker. And these idiots probably believed that she could get him to them. Her blue eyes widened at him.

"No," she stated flatly. "Whatever you're planning to do with him, there's no way I'm helping you."

He frowned at her, and she saw him grip the stick tighter.

"But you haven't even listened to my little proposition yet," he told her in fake disappointment. "And I'm sure you want him dead just as much as we do. It would be so easy for you to do, since you're his doctor."

She grinned at him. "_Was_ his doctor, Vegas. I understand that you want your revenge on him, but there is nothing I can do. I've been reassigned."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Boys."

The thug closest to her walked over to them and smacked her hard in the face. She cried out in pain as her cheek began to throb.

"I didn't peg you as a storyteller, Dr. Quinzel," he said pleasantly, as if all his thug did was shake her hand. "We know you've been treating him. Why even bother lying?"

"Then your information is outdated," she told him, sending him an icy cold glare. "I was reassigned to a different patient yesterday. They wanted a better suited doctor to treat him. He was too much for me."

"Gary, could you go warm this up for me?" he asked the thug who had slapped her. He took it and placed it in the fire pit. "You better start telling the truth, darling, before my little party stick gets too hot for you to handle. All we want you to do is make him OD on his meds. It'd be easy, and nobody would miss him. We can easily pay off any lawyer and judge to ensure you don't go to prison. That sounds like a decent deal to me. So what do you say?"

"Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to," she yelled at him in annoyance. "I'm not his doctor, and I don't handle his medication. Why won't you idiots believe me?"

Vegas sighed in disappointment, and snapped his fingers. His stick was brought to him and he brought it close to her skin. She swallowed, staring in fear at the stick. She tried rocking to the side, to knock the chair over or something, but Gary, as his boss called him, held her chair in place.

"I didn't want to do this, darling," he told her, and then pressed it against her skin.

Harleen howled out in pain as her skin bubbled and burned. He pulled it away again, and revealed two diamonds instead of just one as his thugs chuckled. She was in so much pain. Even when the stick was gone, the heat and boiling skin still remained. Closing her eyes and trying to block it out did nothing. Roughly, Vegas grabbed her by the jaw and brought her face closer to his. A mixture of cigars and bad breath radiated off of him. She tried her best not to vomit.

"We have sources that tell us you are the clown's doctor," he told her calmly, stroking her chin gently. "Why would they lie to us?"

"Sources?" she asked, ignoring his question and raising an eyebrow. "Who?"

He sneered down at her and through her face away. It took every ounce of her might not to throw up. "Someone within the asylum itself, of course."

Taking deep breaths, she held herself up and stared directly into his two eyes. He returned the stare. "Who?" Who would be in contact with these men?

"You need not worry yourself about that," he answered, standing up and pacing the room, twirling his stick in his hands. "And stay on topic, please. I am going to state this one more time: you are going to have the Joker overdose on his medication. Is that clear enough for you?"

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "How many times do I have to tell you this? I. Am not. The Joker's. Doctor," she repeated, trying to remain calm. The rope was beginning to chafe on her wrists and ankles. "I can't help you!"

Her last phrase was almost shrill as she stared at the mob boss desperately. He had to believe her, he just had to.

Vegas looked down at her, disgusted, and turned to Gary. "Get her out of my sight."

The thug nodded as he grabbed the back of her chair and dragged her towards some unknown room that she could not see. She watched helplessly as Vegas turned his back to her and began watching the fire. She had no doubt that he was turning his branding stick into the burning charcoal, watching as the flames turn the once black stick into a glowing orange. There was not a doubt in Harleen that he was done with her.

Suddenly she was in a different room and she felt a whoosh of air as the door closed in front of her. Her bondages loosened around her hands and wrists and she instantly jumped out of the chair, rubbing her now raw wrists with her hands. The room was small and cold. It was mostly empty, except for a small and very filthy bed in the corner and the chair that Gary had unceremoniously dragged into it. She glared at the other man in the room.

"Ya know, this would be a lot easier if you would just do what the boss says," he told her, sticking his hands into his pant pockets. Her eyes narrowed even further.

"This would be a lot easier if your boss just listened to me," she retorted, making her way over to the bed, but then deciding that the chair would be a better resting place for her. Heck even the floor would be better than the bed.

He merely shrugged at her and left the room. She heard the 'click' of the door being locked. Seeing that the man had left, she let out the scream she had been holding in during her entire encounter with the mob boss. It was a scream of pain, frustration, exasperation, hopelessness, and worst of all, anger. She brushed a hand through her hair and paced around the room. There were so many things that she had to take in.

She had been kidnapped by Vegas, one of Gotham's few remaining mob bosses. And a pathetic one at that.

They believed that she was still the Joker's doctor. Understandable, considering they had just switched her patients the other day.

They wanted her to kill the Joker and make it look like an accident.

Someone at the Asylum had informed them that she was still the Joker's psychiatrist.

Many questions followed number four. Who was it? Had the doctor been approached by the thugs, or were the thugs approached by the doctor? Why would said doctor give away such information? Did they want the Joker dead, too? Silly question; of course they wanted him dead. The whole city wanted him dead. The one thing that Batman couldn't do for the city. Scratch that, _wouldn't_ do for the city. Harleen had no doubts that he had the ability to kill; it was his ability to not kill that made him special, different.

But something that had always bothered her about this was…the evil men that he didn't kill always came back. They always broke out of prison (or asylum, in this case) and they always came back, more often than not causing more destruction than they did the first time around. Returning always meant returning with a bang.

Harleen shook the thoughts away. How could she be thinking about that at a time like this? She was locked away God knows where, and possibilities of escape or of being saved were slim. She took another deep breath and sat back down in her chair, holding her head between her legs. The room was slowly getting darker as the sun was setting. There was only a single window in the room, and it was too high for her to reach even with the chair. She couldn't hear what was going on in the room next door, she assumed they all had left, save someone keeping watch to make sure she didn't escape. As the room disappeared into complete darkness, she angrily blamed the Joker for her getting kidnapped. If she had never had been his doctor…

"You wanted excitement, Harles," she said aloud to herself quietly. "And you got it."

**A/N: Woo! Another chapter! And so soon! It's partly because of those awesome reviews I've gotten from you guys. And I have to say, I agree with a lot of your guys' points on TDKR. It's a shame…I had such high expectations for that movie. **

**Some of you mentioned you didn't like Harley in the last chapter. Yeah, she definitely did let her emotions get in the way. But for me, she is still a doctor in training. She's very young in comparison to the other doctors, and has a lot to learn. Plus she has a crush on Crane (let's be honest, who doesn't?). Don't worry, I have some plans to toughen her up ;)**

**Anyways what did you guys think? A lot of you thought that the Scarecrow or the Joker had kidnapped her, but nope! Surprise! It was some mob boss that I had created for my own evil purposes. Sorry if he was lame. I imagined him looking like Michael Fassbender…something along the lines of him. **

**I apologize for the lack of Joker, but like I had stated earlier, this is a Harley Quinn story, not a Joker story. Although once she returns to the asylum, he will be there again, but that might not be in the next chapter. Definitely the chapter after that, though. I also apologize for any typos. Just finished it and have most of it edited. I just wanna post it now. So yeah. I'll fix it later. **

**So do what you guys do best and leave a review! Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my story!**

**Oh and thanks for all the great reviews! Please, keep them coming!**


	14. Keep On Smiling

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 14**

**Keep On Smiling**

**~()~**

It had been a week since Harleen had been captured. At least, that's what she believed. She had lost track of time in her little room. Sure, she could see the sun rising and setting through the windows at the top of the room, but after awhile the days all just blended together. Light, then dark, light, then dark. It could've been two weeks for all she knew.

Lying on the floor of her 'room,' motionless, not wanting to use up the little energy she had, was all she could manage to do. They fed her, but only twice a day, and the food they did give her was nothing but scraps, perhaps leftovers from the thugs' meals. But luckily for her, they always provided an ample supply of water. She had long since given up on the bed, and had been using a second bucket as a toilet. Needless today, the smell of the room was not pleasant, not that it ever was to begin with.

Slowly her head lifted up into the air as a stream of light from the now open door flashed across her face. She had been in the darkness for so long that it had almost blinded her. She turned away, and attempted to hold a hand up, to block it out, but she didn't even have enough energy for that. She cursed aloud, but her head was spinning so much that even she couldn't comprehend what she had said. She was so tired, so weak, so sick, and there was nothing she could do about it. Earlier efforts at finding a secret door, or a way to climb up to the window had been pointless. Now, she simply sat on the ground and either waited for food, or for one of the thugs to drag her out to be questioned. One would think that he would have gotten the point by now, that she wasn't going to help him, but he was determined.

"Hey boss, maybe we should just let her go," Gary had said, on the fifth day, perhaps. He actually sounded concerned for her. Or perhaps he was just tired of the same process repeating itself over and over again. She was in too much pain to notice. "We've been at this for days. I think she's telling the truth."

Vegas glared at Gary, pointing the stick at him in a threatening manner.

"No," he snapped, taking a step closer to the henchman. Gary held up his hands in surrender, casting his boss a weary look. "I will break her. I will make her fold."

Despite being in so much pain, she rolled her eyes at the bad pun. Bad guys these days. Vegas didn't notice, but continued to beat her anyways. He was so sure that she would do this for him, Harleen was sure he had gone crazy.

"Help," he paused and whacked her in the stomach with a crowbar, causing her to cry out in pain and spit out blood. "Me." Whack. "Kill." Whack. "The." Whack. "Joker!"

After each word, he slammed the crowbar into her stomach, causing ribs to crack and break. Gary turned his head away as her screams filled the entire warehouse.

After every session, he would tell her to keep on smiling.

"Because I hate seeing a frown on that pretty lil' face of yours," he would tell her, pulling her face close to his so she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Harleen had been appreciative of Gary's efforts. If she had to choose a favorite thug, it would be him. Not that she would condone his actions or would she ever forgive him, but he had always been a little nicer to her. He was also the one who had brought her food and water.

Gary entered the room and she held her breath and refused to look at him out of fear; he was either there to bring her food or bring her to Vegas. Judging by the faint clacking noises she heard, he had placed a tray of food next to her head, and she let go of her breath, relieved. But her fear had not entirely gone away; she knew that this was only a small break and she would see Vegas soon enough. A whimper escaped her lips.

"I managed to sneak in an extra roll, Ms. Quinzel," Gary whispered, but didn't stick around to see a response. The light slowly disappeared as he left the room.

Harleen, painfully, propped herself onto her elbow and pulled herself up. She looked at the mediocre meal before her and snorted.

_At least they're feeding you_, she told herself mentally. In the distance, she heard a police siren, but she didn't bother getting her hopes up. She heard the sirens all the time; they were obviously still in Gotham, where police sirens were the norm. She lifted the plastic fork into her hand, gripped it tightly as she felt anger begin to overcome her, and threw it at the wall. It merely bounced off the wall and back onto the ground, right in front of her, doing absolutely no damage at all. Not that she was expecting it to, nor cared. She was too angry.

Why hadn't anybody found her yet? It should not be taking this long to locate her. It had been a whole week, and nothing. By this point, there were two more diamonds on her arm, almost forming one larger diamond, if all were united together.

_Relax Harles, they're coming for you. They must be. Vegas must have some men inside the police department, throwing off the investigation._

She told herself the same story over and over again. It helped her cope, even if she didn't fully believe it. She had to do something to keep her from going crazy and possibly, suicidal. Although dying was not on her list of things to do.

A gun shot rang through the air suddenly, and Harleen's head whipped towards the door, ignoring the immense pain it caused her.

"Get down!" she heard someone shout, and her heart started pounding in her chest. "Hands up, guns down! Where's the doc?" For the first time in days, she felt hopeful. Someone was here, someone fighting Vegas's men, and judging by the sounds coming from the room next to hers, someone was here to rescue her. She tried to stand up, but felt her arms collapse beneath her. She had to resort to getting on her hands and knees and crawling towards the door. It was still locked, but that wouldn't stop her from pounding on the door and screaming for help.

"I'm in here!" she yelled, as tears of joy began sliding down her cheek. "Help! Please help, I'm in here!"

All was silent in the next room, but she continued pounding away on the door. Fear began to grab at her once more, until the door swung open and there was a man standing there, gun in hand. Even though it was too dark to see, Harleen could tell that this was not a police officer, and especially not Batman. She looked up into the shadowy face of the man and began trembling in fear.

"Who-who are you?" she asked pathetically.

The man stopped to the ground and pulled her up by her shoulders.

"Your knight in shinin' armor, doc," he told her gruffly, and proceeded to walk out of the door.

Harleen grabbed onto the door frame to prevent herself from falling. Her eyes blinked into the open room, but all she saw were a few men at the back of the building, waiting for her. They were all wearing clown masks, some had used panty hose and paint as make-shift masks. Her eyes drifted to the floor and saw that it was littered in corpses. She stared at the lifeless bodies on the floor, and instead of looking away, instead of being disgusted by the blood and death, she felt relieved and…happy. She smiled. Those human beings, if you could call them that, had tortured her, beaten her to an inch of her life. She wanted them dead, even Gary. She searched the ground for one specific individual and found him in the corner closest to her, still alive, but spluttering blood. She felt a wave of satisfaction flood over her, and she tightened her grip on the door frame.

"Come on doc, we don't got all day," one of the other men shouted impatiently. "You comin' or not?"

She ignored him, and instead slowly stumbled over to the dying mob boss, each step sending a sharp pain through her body, but each stab of pain was a source of motivation for her. She had to get to him, she had to get to Vegas, that was all that mattered. One of the men moaned in annoyance and walked over to her.

"For Christ's sake," he mumbled and went to scoop her up and over his shoulder, but she started struggling and flailing around in his arms, screaming.

"No!" she yelled, beating him on his chest. She was too short to reach his face. "Let me do this! I…I need to do this…"

The clown looked at her strangely, and put his hands and backed away. Harleen was blinded by her anger, her fury, and at the moment, she had only one goal.

Vegas's eyes fluttered open as she knelt on the ground next to him, body trembling.

"You're one…cough…one tough bitch," he said, sneering at her while covering the two bullet wounds he had in his chest. "But don't…don't think this is over…I've got boys on the outside…who'll get you for dis."

She didn't respond to him; in fact, something in his hand caught her attention. It was the brander he had used. She yanked it out of his hands, but was disappointed to see that it was cool. She wouldn't get to show him how painful all of those burns had been, the agony that each individual diamond had set through her. She'll have to work with what she had.

"Keep on smiling, fucker," she said, voice barely audible. Harleen used every ounce of energy she had left and slammed the brander into his face over and over and over again. The clowns in the room just watched, deadly silent. They didn't know what to say or what to do. They had been told that they were to go to a warehouse to bring this woman home, a doctor, but they weren't told that she was as crazy as their employer.

She felt nothing; nothing other than man's blood splattering on her face. He had long been dead, but still she kept on beating him, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She held up the stick to hit the intruder, but the man put a hand on her wrist and forced her to drop the brander. It was the man who had set her free not moments before.

"Jesus," he said, eyes wide with terror. "No wonder the Joker wants you. You're as fucked up as he is."

Harleen just stood there, panting and a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, when she finally lost all energy and blacked out.

**~()~**

Slowly the world began to come back into focus, but it didn't really matter; her head was pounding too hard for her to focus on anything. She was lying on something soft, something familiar. She blinked her eyes and saw a wooden ceiling, one that she recognize instantly. She was back at home, in her apartment. She turned her head to the side and saw that the Joker's men had miraculously found her cell phone, and had set it on the pillow next to her. She stared at it for a long time, before deciding to finally pick it up and call somebody. She needed medical attention, and soon.

As she was turning the phone on, and the white little screen lit up her face, she realized how dead she actually felt. Every part of her body ached. She was hungry. She had bruises everywhere. She was caked in days-old blood.

It took her a couple of attempts to finally pick it up. She grabbed it and called the first person that came to her head.

"Hello?" Guy answered in a groggy voice. Harleen wasn't aware of the time, but she didn't care. "Harleen? Harleen is this you? Where are you? God, you've been missing for over a week! Where are you? I've been worried sick! Thank God!"

None of this registered in her head.

"Just…help," she told him, and then blacked out once more.

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it took so long for me to update, but I've returned to school and had been so busy with it! Luckily I had started part of this chapter before I went back, so all I had to do was edit and finish. Tell me what you guys think so far! I'm on winter break, so I should be able to have another update within the next two weeks. Got to get those creative juices flowing again!  
**

**Once again, your guys' reviews are awesome! Keep them coming! :D**


	15. Damages

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 15**

**Damages**

**~()~**

"Your daughter is going to seem a bit…different to you. She's been through a lot, suffered through so much pain, and then woke up back in her bed at home near death. She's in a state of shock, so it would be easier if you just let her rest for-"

"She's my daughter, God damn it! She's been missing for nearly two weeks, and then I get a phone call telling me she's been found! I want to see her right _now!_"

"Mr. Quinzel, take a seat, or you'll be forcing me to call for security."

Grumbling was heard following this conversation, and then the hallway went silent.

To Harleen, although, everything was silent. She was lying in one of the hospital beds, in a room to herself, and staring at the wall. She hadn't moved much since she got there, not that there was much for her to do. She felt dead, broken, like something had been taken out of her and now she was just a hollow corpse.

Her thoughts kept bringing her back to that God-awful warehouse that she had been at for 9 days with little to no food and a beating every couple of hours. All because they wanted information on the Joker.

Amusingly enough, she did not blame him. Not one bit. At this thought she cracked a small smile.

There was movement on her right as she heard Guy shift in his sleep, but Harleen barely batted an eye. He had been with her ever since he found her in bed at her flat. He called the ambulance, and then Harleen's parents, and had helped to take care of her.

She wasn't exactly sure why she had called Guy, of all people, instead of Pam or her father. She hardly knew him. But for some reason he was the first person she thought of. She closed her eyes. Nothing made sense anymore. Life used to be so easy, so simple. Only a few months ago, she was just interning at the asylum. Now she was a doctor, and treating high-profiled patients like the Scarecrow and the Joker. And getting kidnapped by notorious mob bosses.

As her eyes reopened, she saw that Guy had woken up, and was staring at his hands, his face scrunched up in confusion. She was pretty sure she knew what he was thinking about, but she felt the need to ask anyway.

"You look like you want to talk about something."

He must not have realized that she was awake, for he jumped slightly, and looked at her, startled.

"Uh, there is, but we don't have to talk about it now," he told her, attempting to smile. "You need to r-"

"You want to know why I called you," she interrupted. His silence was confirmation enough.

Harleen tilted her head to the side so she could look him in the eyes. Slowly her vision began to blur, but not because she was going to black out again.

"Honestly," she began, her voice cracking. "I don't know. Of…of all the people I could have gotten involved in this, I chose…you. I have my mom…my dad…Pam…even the goddamn police, but I chose you. I'm a psychiatrist and it doesn't make any damn sense. It just...felt right."

She closed her eyes and turned her head forward, feeling a tear slide down her cheek, while he remained silent. She wanted him to leave at that moment; her pride was shot, she was confused, and she wanted to be left alone. Hell, she had killed a man only hours before. After this day, she wasn't expecting to see him ever again.

Suddenly there was a slight pressure on her hand, and she opened her eyes in surprise. Guy was kneeling next to her bed, holding her hand and smiling. His eyes were warm and comforting and his touch soothing. Harleen couldn't hold it back anymore and she burst into tears and began sobbing. Guy wrapped her in his arms to the best of his ability and rubbed an arm along her back.

In that moment she knew why she had called him.

**~()~**

After spending a full week at the hospital, she was final released from the hospital, on the condition that she would have to see a psychiatrist once a week to help deal with the emotional trauma.

Naturally, Arkham had called and told her to take a few weeks off in order to get her strength back, but Harleen wanted back in. She had remembered what the thug who had saved her said.

_No wonder the Joker wants you. You're as fucked up as he is._

The Joker had sent those men. The Joker was the one that saved her. _But why?_ Her mind screamed at her. _Why would he care enough to save her? I thought he didn't care about anybody but himself?_

_Did he actually care about…me?_

Harleen needed answers, and there was only one man who could give them to her. The hard part was going to be convincing Arkham to give the Joker back to her.

She walked into his office with her head held high, not letting it show on the outside how weak she felt on the inside. He was sitting at his desk, reading a file. When she walked in he did a double take and put the file down.

"Dr. Quinzel," he said, clearing his voice. He clearly wasn't prepared for her to return so soon. "You really should be at home resting."

"I've rested enough, Dr. Arkham," she said, holding a hand up to prevent him from arguing. "I would like to be reinstated as the Joker's therapist."

"That is out of the question," he stated firmly, almost outraged. His eyes were bulging at such a request. "I would be more lenient to have you treat some of the lower grade patients, perhaps some juveniles who need guidance."

"Jeremiah," Harleen began, pleading. "I need to speak with him, even if it's only just once."

She stared at him, hands gripping the chair in front of her and trembling slightly.

Arkham gazed upon what once was Harleen Quinzel. She normally dressed with style and fashion, wearing dark colors such as red or purples, and favored skirts and high heels. Today she was wearing a white button up that blended in with her lab coat, and black slacks and shoes. She wasn't even wearing her trademark red lipstick. He grimaced at her appearance, wondering what the hell actually happened to this woman. He sighed.

"Why do you need to speak with him?" he asked, slowly closing his eyes. He had a feeling he might knew what she was getting at.

"I believe he may have been involved with my-" before she could finish speaking Arkham interrupted her, angrily.

"With your kidnapping? I should've known…damn it!" He cursed under his breath, rubbing his temples. He was more worried about being sued or having to pay her hospital bills than Harleen's actual well being. "I should have known better than to let you be his doctor, not some young thing like you."

Normally at this point, Harleen would have been furious and an argument would have broken out between the two. Instead she grimaced at the words, but calmly continued to speak.

"No, with my rescue."

Arkham stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly he turned around and stared at her in shock. Surely she couldn't believe that the _Joker_ had saved her?

"Harleen, whatever fantasy you may be having right now, it's not real. There is no way the Joker could have or would have done anything to assist you," he spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to one of his patients. This sparked an old familiar fire within her.

"When I was rescued," she began, almost snarling. "Men broke into the room and killed all of Vegas's men and…Vegas himself. One of them mentioned the Joker, about how the Joker….wanted me."

Arkham was silent again, staring at her in disbelief. "Do the police know this?"

Harleen shook her head. "If the police found out they would interrogate him, and we both know he wouldn't say a word."

Arkham put a hand to his face and began rubbing it around to his neck. He would be taking a big risk if he let her go. He could hurt her again or…she could be lying, perhaps planning something with the Joker. He looked at her one more time and saw that she was telling the truth; or at least, she thought she was telling the truth.

"Alright," he said abruptly, almost in defeat. "I'll make the call. You have ten minutes with him, and you'll have at least five guards waiting outside the cell for you. And you _will_ have a recording device with you. Is that clear, Quinzel?"

Harleen nodded silently, anticipation and excitement building up inside of her. Finally she was going to get some answers.

"When?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"In about an hour. I'll call down to security, and Frank will escort you to the interrogation room." Harleen nodded affirmatively, and turned around to leave. "Harleen?" He asked, stopping her. She didn't turn around, but only moved her head slightly. "Please, be careful."

She nodded her head and left the room, a small smile at the corner of her mouth.

_He actually sounded like he meant it._

What a joke.

**A/N: *Peaks head out from behind a curtain* Hey team! I know it's been a loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong time since the last time I updated, but I've just been so busy with my life. I'm a junior in college now, and working two jobs (one of them is delivering pizzas. It's awful), and I'm studying to be a teacher. **

**I hope you guys liked this chapter, even though the Joker wasn't in it. He will fo sho be in the next one. I just needed this filler, transition chapter. I mean, I couldn't just jump to her and the Joker, amiright? I also wanted it for cutesy Guy stuff, as brief as it was. I promise he'll be in it more as well. **

**Until next time folks! Feel free to leave a review, because you know I love 'em! **


	16. What Doesn't Kill You

**Ha Ha Harlequin**

**Chapter 16**

**What Doesn't Kill You…**

**~()~**

Everybody that Harleen passed in the hallway was watching her, whispering at each other like a bunch of gossiping old women. One of them eyed her wearily as she approached, as if she were a fragile china doll that could break at any moment. A tinge of annoyance sparked in her; she did not want to people to think that she was weak. She had survived over a week with a notorious mob boss, being beaten and burned within an inch of her life. She had _survived_. Last time she checked, survivors weren't weak. And like they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Her makeup and hair were the same; bright red lipstick, light liner and mascara with a bit of eye shadow, and then a sleek bun. She was wearing a blue blouse, buttoned up all the way to hide some of the bruises, and black slacks. She had chosen the heels that she normally wore to work. The only thing that was different about her was the fact that she looked pale, more pale than usual, and thin, sickly thin. Her eyes looked sunken into her head and her clothes did not hug her curves like usual. She did not resemble herself at all. Weak, fragile, _broken_. As she stared at herself she felt one more thing; helpless.

_How can I face the Joker like this? _She asked herself, leaning over and grabbing the edges of the sink in front of her.

_He is going to rip me to shreds._

**~()~**

He was in the room before she got there, sitting in his chair and waiting. He was still appeared to be under a lot of medication, but he looked alert enough, almost impatient, in fact. Harleen clutched the tape recorder in her hand and stared at him through window. It had been so long since she had last seen him. She felt something deep inside of her, some strange emotion that she could have sworn she had felt before. It wasn't fear…or excitement…it was a mixture of anticipation and exhilaration, and it scared her.

"Hey, uh, doc," one of the five guards asked her suddenly, staring at her the way everybody else had been the past couple of days. "You ready?"

"I guess I'm going to have to be, won't I?" she asked, giving him a weak smile that he did not return. He nodded awkwardly and held open the door for her. A bright beam of light cascaded upon her. She took a breath and stepped through the doorway, the guard closing the door behind her.

She stared at him dead in the eyes for a full minute, neither of them saying a word. He began squinting at her, eyes moving up and down her body, sizing her up. He tilted his head to the side and began to suck on his scars, pulling his lips in tight.

"Well, well, well," he said finally, after what felt like hours. "Um, hey boys!" He began yelling at the mirror, eyes not leaving her face. "I think you brought in the wrong doc! This, this isn't Dr. Harleen Quinzel-uh. This is…some hollow shell of what used to be her."

His last few words were said in a dark, low rumble. He raised his eyebrows at her quickly, indicating that it was directed at her, almost challenging her. Slowly she turned the tape recorder on and placed it on the table, sitting in the only vacant seat in the room.

"This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel interviewing patient….interviewing the Joker," she said aloud, her voice coming out stronger than how she felt.

The Joker made a face at her, a mixture of fake confusion and disappointment. "Hey toots, what happened to my, uh, cute little nickname before, huh? It was really starting to grow on me, especially when it came out of your mouth."

Normally, Harleen would have blushed at this comment, but instead she narrowed her eyes at him. She decided to avoid his mind games and irrelevant small talk and get straight to the point.

"Why did you have your men to save me?" she demanded quietly, voice as cold as ice and solid as steel. It even took her a little by surprise.

This had no affect on the Joker, though. The right corner of his mouth curled up into a deep grin and he batted his eyes at her. "Ah there she is."

There was silence between them once again, but there were bolts of electricity flowing from their eyes. She waited patiently for him to answer her question.

"I missed ya, toots," he said, smiling at her with a fake brightness. "Once I heard that ol' Vegas had taken ya, well I had to, uh, I had to do something. Where would I be right now without my favorite doc?" When she didn't look impressed, he pulled his head back in fake hurt and continued. "I put the word out to my boys that Doc Quinzel was missing, and they did all the rest. You should be thanking me. My favorite flowers are lilies."

Harleen's mouth twitched at his joke. She was slightly confused, and concerned, that she was admitting all of this while he was being recorded. Not that the police could do anything about it.

"You expect me to believe that you had your men save me because you…missed me?" she asked, completely skeptical. "Sorry, _toots_, but I don't buy it."

He chuckled lightly and then sighed, staring at the ground for a brief moment.

"How did it feel?" he asked suddenly, taking her a bit by surprise. She didn't understand what she meant, and she blinked at him curiously.

"How did what feel? Being tortured every day by some low time mob boss that wanted information on _you?_" She asked with as much sarcasm as she could muster, folding her hands under her chin and smiling at him brightly. "It was like a mini-vacation for me."

He chuckled at that but shook his head, his matter hair flopping around his face. "No no no no no no, I meant, how did it feel being in _my_ world?"

Harleen's lips parted slowly and her hands lowered to the table as she thought about what he said. It _was_ his world that she was in, only a small part of it. He wasn't referring to the part where she was tortured, but the rest of it. Dealing with those kinds of people, witnessing first hand the ruthless acts they can do.

"At first," she began slowly, staring down at the table and biting her lip. "I found it disgusting and repulsive, the way I've always thought about it. But after awhile, I began to see and understand a little bit more. They have their own system, their own way of life. It's the complete opposite of the world that I was used to, the world that I was taught was right. There aren't any rules, not really at least."

"Ahuhhhh," he said, smile growing wider, urging her to continue.

"It was…interesting…insightful…and…and…"

"It was exciting, wasn't it?" he answered for her, looking very pleased. Silence was her response. "Oh honey, that was just a taste. Imagine what it would feel like if you were in control of it all. Oooh, the surge of power you feel!"

"So you do it for the power?" she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow, skeptical at her own question.

He scrunched up his face slightly and shook his head. "That part's just a plus."

Even though he didn't fully answer her question, she continued on. "All of these…thugs, low-lifes…you seem so above it all, so much more than them…why do you even bother?"

"Well," he began, leaning back in his chair and clearing his throat. "Normally I wouldn't. Just jump in town, make some cash, cause a little mischief, and then be on my merry little way. But this town, uh, this town was different. This town had something special in it, something that caught my eye. Ya see, all it takes is one tiny detail to derail everything, one tiny thing that suddenly makes it all worthwhile. I found mine, toots. What's yours?"

He was obviously talking about the Batman, but something inside of her wanted it to be her, badly, some sort of darkness that was starting to claw its way out of her from the depths of her soul.

His question rang through her ears. _What's yours?_ He was implying that it was him, but something flashed in her mind.

"Guy…" she whispered, eyes widening, looking up at him suddenly, and everything she was feeling just seconds before was sucked back into her like a black hole.

"A guy?" the Joker responded, raising an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Harleen realized her mistake right away and decided that would be the right time to leave. "Uh, yes, a guy. Well, Mr. Jay, I believe it is time for you to return to your cell now."

The Joker didn't say anything to her at first. He leaned back in his chair and stared at her almost in disbelief.

"Who is it?" he asked, his voice deadly serious. It startled Harleen. He sounded…angry. "Oh you were so close doc. So close. I saw it, I saw it in your eyes. Who is it? _Who. Is. It?_"

He shouted the last three words at her, one by one, his voice sounding like a feral animal. Harleen took a step back and hit the wall. The guards burst into the room just as he stood up, being held back by his handcuffs like a dog on a leash. He reached his fists up together and smashed them down on the voice recorder, sending parts scattered across the room. The five guards grabbed him roughly, unlocking him from the table.

"You don't get it do you, Harley?" he snarled at her, fighting and flailing against the guards. "You are _mine_! You were mine the moment you stepped into this room!" His trademark laugh began erupting from his throat. He was finally out the door but she could still hear him yelling down the hallway, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. "I saw what was inside of you, and I will make you see it to! I will find this little ray of light that's stopping you!"

She could hear his laughter up until the hallway door shut, and then there was silence. Harleen was pinned up against the wall, hands gripping at what she could on the wall. Her mouth gaped at the air like a fish out of water. He was so intense, so serious, since the first time she had met him.

_You are mine!_ His words repeated in her head over and over again. Was he right? Had he really pegged her as easily corruptible? Pegged her as someone like him?

"No Harley no," she whispered to herself, sliding down to the ground and pulling her legs into her arms. "You are not like him…you are not like Vegas…you are not like any of them…"

She felt an arm on her shoulder and she jumped. The arm belonged to Jeremiah as he helped her stand up, staring at her in complete shock. He looked just as terrified as he was.

"Harleen I think you need to step down for awhile," he said quietly, and this time he was met with no retort.

"You're not like him…" she whispered as she was brought down the hallway, arms wrapped around herself, ignoring people's requests for water or a blanket. "You're not like him…"

Inside, a little voice whispered…

_Yes you are_.

**~()~**

**A/N: Soooooo it may or may not have been almost a year since I last updated this story, and I would like to formally apologize to all of you. You guys have all been great with your reviews and I'm really glad you're enjoying this. I really enjoy writing it, and now that I'm on summer break I'll have more time to write it. I will be work lovely 8 hour shifts, but I will make the time. For you. Thank you all again, and I will try and have another chapter up soon! **


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